BANCROFT 
LIBRARY 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


62d  YEAR  VOL.  III.     No.  i 

THE  NEW 
PRINCETON  REVIEW 


PUBLISHED    SIX    TIMES    A    YEAR 


JANUARY,    1887 


I.  Victor  Hugo     .......      JOHN  SAFFORD  FISKE 

II.  The  Present  Position  of  Philosophy  in 

Britain         .......       HENRY  CALDERWOOD 

III.  Religion  in  the  Public  Schools        ARCHIBALD  ALEXANDER  HODGE 

IV.  The  Past  and  the  Future  of  the  Irish 

Question          .......     JAMES  BRYCE,  M.P. 

V.  General  McClellan         ....     PHILIPPE,  COMTE  DE  PARIS 

VI.  The  Extirpation  of  Criminals         .         CHARLES  DUDLEY  WARNER 
VII.  E.  P.  Whipple  as  Critic      .....      JULIUS  H.  WARD 

VIII.  Vita  Strainge      .....         GEORGE  PARSONS  LATHROP 

IX.  Criticisms,  Notes,  and  Reviews  — 

The  Interview  as  News  —  The  Ethics  of  Interviewing  —  Lowell  on  Educa 
tion  —  Bancroft's  Alaska  —  Contemporary  Philosophy  in  France  —  Books 
Received.  n*m\ 

zS-  T>  7 


jjleto 
A.    C.  ARMSTRONG  &  SON 

Hontjon 

HODDER   &    STOUGHTOX 


THE  NEW  PRINCETON  REVIEW  FOR  1887. 


THE  NEW  PRINCETON  REVIEW  would  call  the  attention  of  its  subscribers 
and  the  public  to  the  good  faith  with  which  it  has  kept  its  promises  for  the 
past  year.  The  editor  believes  that  the  arrangements  made  for  the  coming 
year  (see  "Announcement,"  pages  2  and  3  of  advertisements  in  this 
number)  will  give  even  greater  satisfaction. 

There  will  be  a  series  of  literary  criticisms,  of   the  same  class  as  those 

which  Jmvp-m^ 

The 
the  me; 
science  \ 
and  cai 
departn 
will  rec 

The 
thought 
heavy  f 
future. 

The 
generou 
subscrib 


.bility  by 
sophy  and 
its  pages, 
ssent  the 
education 

i  serious, 
struse  or 
>  in  the 

mpt  and 
ration  of 


Bound  volumes,  containing  the  numbers  of  the  first  year — viz,  Vols.  I. 
and  II — will  be  furnished  at  $2.50  each,  in  American  Russia  back  and  cloth 
sides.  The  covers  alone,  50  cts.  each.  Binding  of  back  numbers,  $1.00  per 
vol.  The  above  sent  prepaid  on  receipt  of  price. 

SPECIAL    OFFER    TO    SUBSCRIBERS. 

For  the  convenience  of  those  who  do  not  wish  at  once  to  bind  their 
numbers  of  the  REVIEW,  we  have  provided  a  system  of  filing  the  same  for 
reference  in  INDEXED  COVERS,  having  all  the  appearance  of  bound  books 
when  placed  in  the  library.  The  device  is  simple,  the  numbers  requiring 
only  to  be  tied  in,  and  are  thus  as  firmly  fixed  to  the  back  as  if  bound.  A 
separate  index  will  be  found  on  the  inside  of  one  of  the  freely-opening 
covers,  where  it  may  be  consulted  without  untying  the  contents. 

These  covers,  in  substantial  cloth  binding,  retail  for  50  cents  each.  We 
will  furnish  them  to  subscribers,  on  renewal  of  subscription,  at  half-price, 
viz.:  25  cents  per  vol.;  or,  with  one  new  subscriber  and  renewal,  the  covers 
for  Vols.  I.  and  II.  will  be  sent  free.  The  covers  for  Vols.  I.  and  II.  of  the 
current  year  are  now  ready,  and  will  be  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price. 


The  REVIEW  will  be  published  six  times  a  year,  beginning  with  January, 
subscriptions  will  commence  with  the  current  number. 


TERMS:  $3.00  a  year  in  advance,  post  free.   Remittances  may  be  made  in  P.O.  or  expr 
r  in  drafts,  checks,  or  registered  letters.    Money  in  letters  is  at  sender's  risk. 

The  Editor  and  Publishers  assume  no  responsibility  for  unaccepted  manuscripts. 


When  no  time  is  specified 


•ess  money  orders. 


A.  C.  ARMSTRONG  &  SON,  Publishers,  714  Broadway,  N.  Y. 

HODDER   &  STOUGHTON,  27  Paternoster  Row,  London. 


Copyright,  1886,  by  A.  C.  Armstrong  &  Son.         Entered  at  New  York  Post  Office  as  second  class  mail  matter. 


BANCROFT 
LIBRARY 

THE  NEW  PRINCETON  REVIEW. 


A.CID  PHOSPHAT*E. 


For  Dyspepsia,  Mental  and  Physical  Exhaustion,  Nervousness,  Diminished  Vitality,  etc. 

Prepared  according  to  the  directions  of  Prof.  E.  N.  Horsford,  of  Cambridge. 

A  preparation  of  the  phosphates  of  lime,  magnesia,  potash,  and  iron  with  phosphoric 
acid,  in  such  form  as  to  be  readily  assimilated  by  the  system. 

Universally  recommended  and  prescribed  by  physicians  of  all  schools. 

Its  action  will  harmonize  with  such  stimulants  as  are  necessary  to  take. 

It  is  the  best  tonic  known,  furnishing  sustenance  to  both  brain  and  body. 

It  makes  a  delicious  drink  with  water  and  sugar  only. 

AS  A   BRAIN   AND   NERVE   TONIC. 

DR.  E.  W.  ROBERTSON,  Cleveland,  O.,  says:  "From  my  experience,  can  cordially 
recommend  it  as  a  brain  and  nerve  tonic,  especially  in  nervous  debility,  nervous  dyspepsia, 
etc.,  etc"." 

FOR   WAKEFULNESS. 

DR.  WILLIAM  P.  CLOTHIER,  Buffalo,  N.  Y.,  says:  "  I  prescribed  it  for  a  Catholic 
priest,  who  was  a  hard  student,  for  wakefulness,  extreme  nervousness,  etc.,  and  he  reports  it 
has  been  of  great  benefit  to  him." 

IN    NERVOUS   DEBILITY. 

DR.  EDWIN  P\  VOSE,  Portland,  Me.,  says:  "I  have  prescribed  it  for  many  of  the 
various  forms  of  nervous  debility,  and  it  has  never  failed  to  do  good.  ' 

FOR  THE  ILL  EFFECTS  OF  TOBACCO. 

DR.  C.  A.  FERNALD,  Boston,  says:  "I  have  used  it  in  cases  of  impaired  nerve 
function,  with  beneficial  results,  especially  in  cases  where  the  system  is  affected  by  the  toxic 
action  of  tobacco. " 

INVIGORATING,  HEALTHFUL, 

STRENGTHENING,  REFRESHING. 

Prices  reasonable.      Pamphlet  giving  further  particulars  mailed  free. 
Manufactured  by   the    RUMFORD    CHEMICAL    WORKS,   Providence,   R.  I. 

OK     IMITATIONS. 

FOREIGN  TEACHERS  flGENCy 

Supplies  Colleges,  Schools,  and  Families,  with  the  best 

Professors,  Teachers,  Tutors,  and  Governesses, 

RESIDENT  OR  VISITING,  AMERICAN  OR  FOREIGN. 

Parents  and  Guardians  aided  in  the  choice  of  good  Schools  for  their  Children 
or  Wards,  without  charge.     Only  the  best  schools  represented. 

Call  on  or  address  MRS.     M.    J.     YOUNG-KUL/TON, 

American  and  foreign    Teachers  Agency, 

23  Union  Square,  New  York  City. 


THE  NEW  PRINCETON  REVIEW. 


" 


ANNOUNCEMENT  FOR    1887. 


Partial  dJst  of 

Contributors 


Hon.  George  Bancroft. 
Hon.  .las.  Russell  Lowell. 
Charles  Dudley  Warner. 
Pres't  Noah  Porter. 
Pres't  Julius  H.  Seelye. 
Pres't  James  McCosli. 
Edmund  C.  S  ted  man. 
John  Bach  McMaster. 
George  P.  Fisher. 
Win.  M.  Taylor. 
Grace  King. 
Charles  A.  Young. 
Henry  C.  Potter. 
Edward  Stanwood. 
Frances  Courtney  Baylor 
John  Hall. 

Geo.  Dana  Boardman. 
T.  M.  Coan. 
Archibald  Alexander. 
Theodore  Roosevelt. 
Henry  W.  Farnam. 
F.  J.  Child. 
R.  H.  Stoddard. 

Sam'l  L.  Clemens  (Mark 
Twain). ' 


The  accompanying  partial  list  of  eminent  writers 
for  the  REVIEW  (now  largely  increased)  is  perhaps 


High  Literary  Standing. 


excellence.  Each  article  will  be  found  a  finished 
production,  in  the  best  sense  of  the  term,  worthy 
of  a  high  place  in  the  most  select  literature  of  the 
day.  Many  writers  whose  names  are  here  given 
make  this  their  only  medium  for  reaching  the 
American  public,  and  some  from  an  earnest  desire 
to  forward  an  enterprise  of  this  character  have  en 
tered  again  upon  special  lines  of  literary  work, 
which,  by  reason  of  long  service,  had  been  laid  aside. 

The  REVIEW  has  for  its  object  a  strong  as  well  as 
&pure  literature;  steadfast  in  the  defence  of  prin- 

Steadfast  Devotion  to  Principle. 

things  as  settled"  and  will  not  open  its  columns  to 
vague  speculations,  much  less  to  those  who  seek 
notoriety.  In  these  days  of  social  and  religious 
unrest,  this  will  be  the  unvarying  atmosphere  of  the 
REVIKW.  It  is  believed  that  the  foundations  of 
religion  and  of  good  government  in  this  country 
are  too  firmly  laid  to  require  continual  taking  up 
for  repairs.  "Some  things  will  be  taken  for 
granted,"  and  all  useless  discussion  will  be  left  to 
others.  Without  party  or  sectarian  bias,  it  will  seek 
to  establish  a  medium  through  which  the  best 
thought  of  our  ablest  writers  may  contribute  to  the 
building  up  of  the  moral,  intellectual,  and  political 
life  of  the  nation. 

We  call  attention  to  the 
short  discussions  of  timely 
subjects,  under  the  head  of 
"  Criticisms,  Notes,  and  Re 
views,"  as  alone  worth  the  cost  of  the  entire  work. 
Perhaps  no  one  feature  of  the  REVIEW  has  attracted 


Short  Discussions 
of  Timely  Subjects, 


Arthur  Hartley. 

Gen.  0.  0.  Howard. 

Charles  H.  Parkhurst. 

Flora  L.  Shaw. 

Stanley  Hall. 

J.  B.  Harrison. 

T.  A.  Janvier. 

Annie  Trumlnill  Slosson. 

E.  S.  Nadal. 
Alexander  Johnston. 
Charles  W.  Shields. 
Sarah  Newlin. 

T.  R.  Lounsbnry. 
Henry  J.  van  Dyke,  Jr. 
Allan  .Marqnund. 
Alexander  J.  Ormond. 
James  0.  Murray. 
Charles  Eliot  Norton. 
Francis  L.  Patton. 
William  C.  Prime. 

F.  >.  Zabriskie. 
M.  Allen  Starr. 
Clias.  Loring  Brace. 
Rol)ert  Bridges. 


wider  attention  than  this,  or  proven  of  more  prac 
tical  value.  It  will  be  the  aim  to  develop  this 
department  in  every  possible  direction,  bringing  into 
the  field  of  brief  discussion  the  important  movements 
of  the  world  in  a  way  to  show  the  relation  of  events 
to  the  varied  interests  and  problems  of  the  day. 


The  Only  Reference  Review.        ^anma°nf 

on  every  watch  tower"  —  a  specialist  —  who  shall 
record  the  progress  of  the  year  in  his  own  depart 
ment  of  science  or  of  research,  is  peculiar  to  this 
publication.  In  the  case  of  all  new  discoveries, 
care  is  taken  to  define  accurately  the  points  of  con 
nection  with  existing  theories  or  with  established 
facts,  and  the  practical  bearings  of  the  question  are 
made  both  prominent  and  popular.  Anyone  refer 
ring  to  the  elaborate  indexes  of  Vols.  I.  and  II.  of 
the  present  year  will  be  surprised  at  the  extent  of 
the  field  covered  by  this  system.  The  same  care  is 
taken  in  the  historical  summary  or  "  Record  "  of 
events,  which  is  now  a  permanent  feature  of  each 
volume. 

In  preserving  their  numbers  of  the  REVIEW  sub 
scribers  will  secure  an  authoritative  and  interesting 
yearly  supplement  to  the  library  —  the  best,  we 
believe,  that  will  be  found  in  print. 
Qmflll  TftQt  ^e  rnere  nominal  cost  at  which 
OlMll  l/Ubl,  the  RFVIEW  is  furnished  is  also  worthy 
of  mention.  The  900  or  more  liberal  pages  of 
standard  literature  that  we  here  furnish  for  $3.00 
we  believe  is  equaled  by  no  similar  publication  of 
Europe  or  America.  In  mechanical  execution,  also, 
its  superiority  is  at  once  apparent.  The  large,  clear 
type,  fine  paper,  and  the  perfect  impressions  se 
cured  by  superior  printing,  combine  to  make  it  a 
luxurious  volume  for  use. 


PUBLICATION. 

The  REl  '/Ell'  will  be  pub 
lished  six  times  a  year,   be 
ginning    with    the    January 
number,   iSS6,   making  two 
•volumes  yearly.    IVhennotime 
is  specified,  subscriptions  •will 
commence   with    the    current 
number.     Vols.  I.  and  II. 
jjoir  ready. 

TERMS  : 

$3.00  a  year  in  advance, 
postage  free.      We  make    i.e 
SPECIAL     OFFER    of    the 
RE  VIEW  for    i8Sb    and 
iS8j,  two  years  in  one  sub 
scription,  for    $5.       Remit 
tances  may  t>f  made  in  P.  O. 
or  Express  Money  Orders,  or 
in  Drafts,   Check--,   or  Regis 
tered     Letter.       MONEY   in 
letters  is  at  sender's  risk 

BOUND  VOLUMES  AM)  COVERS. 

Bound  copies  of  Vols.  /.  and 
II.   (Am.   Russia   back,   (loth 
sides),  $2  jo  each,  postpaid. 
Binding    of    back    numbers, 
$  1  .00  per  vol.     Indexed  Cov 
ers,  for  filing  and  placing  in 
library    -without  binding,  TO 
SUBSCRIBERS,  23  cts.  per  vol. 

A.  C.  ARMSTRONG  &  SON,  Publishers,  714  Broadway,  N.  Y. 

HODDER    &   STOUGHTON,  27  Paternoster  Row,  London. 


THE  NEW  PRINCETON  REVIEW. 


JUST     PUBLISHED- 

AMERICANS    IN     ROMB, 

Or,  Paul  Errington  and  His  Struggles. 

"  It  might  be  called  a  semi-historical  religious  novel.  It  is  very  dramatic  and  written  with  masterly  skill. 
No  intelligent,  thoughtful  person  can  fail  to  hnd  intense  interest  and  profit  from  the  reading  of  this  remarkable 
book." — Dr.  Sherwood,  Ed.  Homiletic  Review. 

"The  book  will  be  read  and  will  do  good." — Rev.  Dr.  Stevenson,  III.  Christian  Weekly. 

"  A  novel  which  will  be  read  from  beginning  to  end  with  marked  attention.  *  *  *  Laden  with  a  weight 
of  truth  that  will  give  it  a  wide  circulation  and  numerous  readers." — Book  Record. 

"The  story  itself  is  interesting  and  instructive." — The  NeT.v  York  Evangelist. 

"  A  novel  which  cannot  fail  to  create  a  sensation  among  those  who  read  it.  There  are  ancient  forgeries  which 
have  long  inflicted  themselves  upon  millions  of  mankind.  Exposure  of  their  pretension  is  a  step  toward  liberat 
ing  their  victims,  and  disposing  some  people,  who  otherwise  might  be  tempted  bjutheir  attractions,  to  choose  a 
humbler  style  of  life  rather  than  perennial  imposture.  But  plain  truth  is  not  always  so  powerful  as  it  has  credit 
for.  Mankind,  in  general,  believe  what  they  like  best.  Sometimes  it  is  worldly  wise  to  teach  righteousness  by 
lessons  of  fiction.  Professed  fiction  may  consist  of  substantial  truth,  and  be  the  most  effectual  method  of  expos 
ing  falsehood.  Happy  are  they  who  by  entertaining  can  recommend  wisdom  to  the  understanding,  and  pure 
and  happy  affections  to  the  heart.  Such  is  the  aim  of  'Americans  in  Rome.'" — Prof,  James  C,  Mojfat,  of 
Princeton  Theological  Seminary. 

Send  prepaid  to  any  address  on  receipt  of  price,  cloth,  §1.50. 

JAMES  R.  BARNETT  &  CO.,  Publishers,  95  Chambers  St.,  N.  Y. 

NEW  JERSEY,  Lawrenceville. 

T  AWRENCEVILLE  SCHOOL.— JOHN  C.  GREEN  FOUNDATION. 
L^  Applications  for  admission  should  be  made  from  three  to  six  months  in 
advance  of  date  of  entrance.  For  Catalogue  containing  Courses  of  Study 
and  Calendar,  and  for  other  information,  address 

REV.  JAMES  C.  MACKENZIE,  PH.D. 


ALWAYS  ASK  FOR 


CELES2ATSD 

STEEL  PENS; 


PENS 


LEADING    NUMBERS. 

048,14,130,333,135,161 

For  Sale  by  all  Stationers. 

The  Estertooofc  Steel  Pen  Co, 

25  John  Street,  Uev  Tort. 


"A  NEW  WORK  OF  SPECIAL  INTEREST." 

Cegen&s  aub  Popular  Stales  of  tljc  Basque  People. 

BY    MARIANA.     N1ONTEIRO. 

With  Illustrations  in  Photogravure  by  HAROLD  COPPING.  Small  quarto,  handsomely  bound  in  cloth  ;  illumi 
nated.  $3.75.  ( A  small  number  of  copies — only  1 5  unsold — on  large  paper,  hand  made,  with  India  Proofs 
of  the  Photogravures,  numbered  and  signed  by  the  author.  Price,  $7 .50,) 

CONTENTS. 


I.  Aquelarre. 

II.  Arguiduna. 

III.  Maitagarri. 

IV.  Roldan's  Bugle  Horn. 


IX.  Chaunt  of  the  Crucified. 
X.-XI.  The  Raids.  The  Holy  War. 

XII.  The  Prophecy  of  Lara. 
XIII.  Hurca  Mendi. 


V.  Jaun-Zuria,  Prince  of  Erin. 
VI.  The  Branch  of  White  Lilies. 
VII.  The  Song  of  Lamia. 
VIII.  Virgin  of  the  Five  Towns. 

IN  placing  before  the  reader  this  collection  of  Legends  and  Popular  Tales  of  the  Basque  People,  it  is  perhaps 
hardly  necessary  to  point  out  the  moral  ana  historical  importance  which  they  possess  as  a  reflection  of  the 
ideas  and  a  faithful  echo  of  the  sentiments  of  long-past  generations. 

F  these  ancient  regimes  or  societies,  by  no  means  the  least  interesting  in  the  field  of  European  history,  is 
that  of  the  Basque  people.  No  doubt  they  have  much  in  common  with  other  primitive  races,  but  they 
are  at  least  singular  in  this,  that  through  successive  revolutions,  the  many  storms  of  devastation  and 
raceal  upheavals  which  have  changed  the  face  of  Europe,  they  have  carried  unimpaired  their  individuality 
as  a  nation,  and  preserved  intact  their  institutions,  laws,  language,  and  customs. 

TT^HEY  stand  alone  and  unique  amid  the  ruin  and  desolation  which  have  befallen  all  other  primitive  Euro- 
(I®       Pean  races,  retaining  the  same  language,  customs,  beliefs,  and,  above  all,  the  same  spirit  which  so  emi 
nently  distinguished  them  in  the  days  of  their  glory. 


Edinburgh  Scotsman  says  :  "  An  important  addition 
to  our  collection  of  folk-lore.  Deeply  interesting. 
There  is  much  in  them  that  is  weird  and  beautiful, 
To  the  student  of  folk-lore  they  will  be  as  a  mine  of 
newly  discovered  wealth." 


N.  Y.  Tribune  says:  "The  Legends  are  better 
worth  collecting  than  those  of  many  other  countries 
which  have  received  more  scientific  attention." 


Copies  sent  by  Express  or  Mail,  on  receipt  of  price,  charges  prepaid  by  the  Publishers. 

A.  C.  ARMSTRONG~&  SON,  714  Broadway,  New  York. 


THE  NE  W  PRI.VCE  TO.V  RE  VIE  If. 


JAMES  McCREERY  &  CO. 

Invite  the  attention  of  out-of-town  buyers  to  their  large  and  attractive  stock 
of  RICH  SILKS,  VELVETS,  PLUSHES,  DRESS  GOODS,  LACES,  INDIA 
SHAWLS,  HOSIERY,  GLOVES,  UPHOLSTERY  GOODS,  SUITS, 
WRAPS,  HOUSEKEEPING  GOODS,  Etc.,  Etc. 

We  have  in  all  our  Departments  a  full  line  of  Goods,  from  medium-priced 
to  the  finest  imported. 

Would  also  call  SPECIAL  attention  to  our  fine  assortment  of  FALL 
and  WINTER  DRESS  GOODS,  and  offer  among  them  : 

A  large  stock  of  Wool  Serges,  42  inches  wide,  at  60  cents  per  yard. 

Two  lines  of  Stripe  and  Check  Cheviots,  at  75  cts.  per  yard,  well  worth  $1.25. 

Correspondence  from  Housekeepers  resident  in  any  part  of  the  United 
States  receive  prompt  attention. 

Orders  by  Mail  or  Express  filled  without  delay. 


JAMES  McCREERY  &  CO., 

Broadway  and  nth  Street,     -        -     New  York  City. 


w.  &  j.  SLOANK, 

ARTISTIC    CARPETINGS. 


f\ 


NOVELTIES    IN 


AXMINSTER,     WILTON,     MOQUETTE,     BRUSSELS,    and    VELVETS. 

ANCIENT  AND  MODERN  ORIENTAL  RUGS. 

ALSO    A    CHOICE    STOCK    OF 

UPHOLSTERY  GOODS, 

EMBRACING 

LACE  CURTAINS,  SILK    DAMASKS,    BROCA  I  ELLES,  TAPESTRIES, 
PLUSHES,  JUTE,  VELOURS,  CRETONNES,  Etc. 

BROADWAY,  ISTHAND  ipTH  STREETS, 

NEW    YORK. 


THE  NE  W  PRINCE  TON  RE  VIE  W. 


LIBRARY    BUREAU 

Kor    Public    and.    Private    Libraries. 


EMPLOYMENT  DEPARTMENT. 

To  bring  together  libraries  wishing  help  and  those  wishing  positions,  so 
as  to  get  the  right  man  in  the  right  place.  No  fee  to  those  wishing  librarians, 
catalogers,  or  assistants.  We  also  supply  trained  workers  to  catalog  or 
index  libraries,  books,  periodicals,  or  mss.  Utilizing  improved  methods 
and  appliances,  they  give  better  work  at  less  cost,  at  the  Bureau,  or  at  the 
library  or  residence.  No  charge  except  for  the  time  of  the  catalogers. 

CONSULTATION  DEPARTMENT. 

To  give  expert  advice  as  to  developing  interest,  raising  funds,  location, 
buildings,  fixtures,  heating,  lighting,  ventilation,  care,  selecting  and  buying 
books,  binding,  cataloging,  indexing,  classification,  circulation,  rules,  help, 
and  all  the  details  of  organization  and  administration,  so  as  to  secure  the 
best  results  at  the  lowest  cost,  profiting  by  the  experiments  and  experience  of 
the  rest  of  the  library  world. 

PUBLICATION  DEPARTMENT. 

To  publish  (from  the  standpoint  of  usefulness  to  libraries,  rather  than 
profit  to  publishers)  manuals  for  administration,  indexes,  and  tables  of  classi 
fication,  subject  headings  for  shelves  and  catalogs,  guides,  labels,  and  various 
needed  helps,  practicable  only  through  a  cooperative  agency  like  this  Bureau. 

SUPPLIES  DEPARTMENT. 

To  furnish,  of  better  models,  materials,  and  workmanship,  and  at  less 
cost  than  otherwise  obtainable,  all  articles  recommended  by  the  Cooperation 
Committee  or  the  Library  Association,  and  to  equip  libraries,  from  smallest  to 
largest,  public  or  private,  with  the  best  known  devices  for  cheap,  convenient, 
and  efficient  use  and  administration.  We  supply  the  best  for  each  use,  and 
if  selection  is  left  to  the  Bureau,  the  benefit  of  its  unequaled  experience  and 
facilities  is  secured. 

Except  books  and  periodicals,  these  supplies  include  everything  needed 
in  the  best  equipped  public  or  private  library,  covering  the  whole  field  as  if 
there  were  no  other  source  of  supplies.  The  manager  gives  his  personal 
attention  as  an  expert,  to  making  or  selecting  and  buying  the  best. 

The  Bureau  aims  to  make  itself  indispensable  to  the  libraries,  and  to 
prove  by  experience  that  the  most  convenient,  cheap,  and  satisfactory  course, 
when  anything  is  wanted,  is  to  come  or  write  at  once  to  it.  We  mail  our 
large  Illustrated  Catalog  Free  to  any  one  wishing  to  preserve  it.  Also, 
prospectus  of  Library  Notes,  devoted  to  improved  methods  and  labor- 
savers  for  librarians,  readers,  and  writers,  sent  to  those  interested 

LIBRARY  BUREAU,  32  Hawley  Street,  Boston. 


THE   NEW  PRINCETON  REVIEW. 


Outing 


The  Gentleman's  Magazine  of  Sport,  Travel 
and  Physical  Recreation. 

SUPERBLY    ILLUSTRATED. 


Q 


0 


0 


D 
0 

Q 


0) 


Exploration, 

Travel  and  Adventure, 

Mountain  Climbing, 

Camping, 

Popular  Forestry, 


During  the  Year  there  will  be   Articles  upon 

Hunting  and  Fishing,  Canoeing.  Archery, 

Walking,  Bicycling,  Cricket, 

Yachting,  Tricycling,  Lacrosse, 

Ice  Yachting,  Amateur  Photography,  Snow-shoeing, 

Rowing,  Court  and  Lawn  Tennis,  Tobogganing, 
Skating. 


Conducted    by    POLJL/TNEY    BIGELOW. 


Three  Dollars  a.   Year ;   Single  Numbers,  Twenty -five  Cents. 


No.  14O  NASSAU   ST., 


NEW  YORK. 


THE  NE  W  PRINCE  TON  RE  VIE  W. 


THE 


Mutual  Life  Insurance  Co. 

OF   NEW  YORK. 

RICHARD    A.    McCURDY,  President 


Assets  over  $109,000,000. 

ISSUES    EVERY    DESIRABLE    FORM    OF    POLICY. 

Paid  to  Members  since  Organization,  over  $230,000  COO. 


As  an  indication  of  the  results  Attained  in  The  Mutual  Life 
Insurance  Company,  the  following  statement  is  presented  : 

POLICY  No.  478  was  issued  by  The  Mutual  Life  Insurance  Company  of 
New  York  in  1844,  on  the  ordinary  life  plan.  The  insured  has  paid  his 
premiums  in  full,  and  the  dividends  have  been  credited  to  the  policy  in  the 
form  of  additions  according  to  the  following  : 

POLICY    No.   478. 
Amount  $5,OOO.  Annual  Premium,  $155.6O. 

FIVE  YEAR    PERIOD  ENDING  ADDITIONS. 

1848  (4  years) $426  02 

1853  49309 

1858  523  85 

1863  i,533  98 

1868 1,555  62 

1873 1-619  77 

1878 1,540  67 

1883 1,508  oo 

1886  (3  years) 870  oo 

Total  Additions   $10,071  oo 

Face  of  Policy 5,000  00 

Present  value  of  Policy  as  a  claim $15,071  oo 

Total  Premiums  Paid 6,686  50 

Value  as  a  claim  in  excess  of  premiums  paid $8,384  50 

The  value  of  this  policy  is  now  over  three  times  the  amount  for  which 
it  was  issued.  For  the  last  twenty  years  the  annual  cash  dividend  has  aver 
aged  nearly  150  per  cent,  of  the  annual  premium,  thus  making  the  policy 
self-sustaining. 

The  dividends  of  the  Mutual  Life  are  larger  than  those  of  any  other 
company  ;  consequently  a  given  amount  of  insurance  is  carried  at  a  less  cost 
to  the  policyholder,  or  a  given  premium  purchases  more  insurance  than  in 
any  other  company. 


THE   NEW 
PRINCETON    REVIEW. 

62d  Year.  JANUARY,  1887.  No.  i. 

VICTOR   HUGO. 

ARE  we  right  in  saying  that  the  dust  has  already  begun  to  set 
tle  upon  the  volumes  of  Victor  Hugo  on  the  library  shelf,  and  that 
the  first  instalments  of  his  literary  legacy*  have  scarcely  broken  the 
silence  gathering  about  his  name?  The  morrow  of  the  death  of  a 
public  favorite  is  apt  to  be  severe  upon  his  memory.  Modern  life 
moves  on  with  such  speed  that  the  enthusiasms  of  yesterday  are  left 
far  behind  us  to-day.  But  as  yet  no  new-comer  has  taken  the  place 
that  for  threescore  years  the  great  French  poet  has  occupied  in  the 
world's  eye,  and  these  handsomely  printed  pages  may  well  tempt 
us  to  pause  and  look  back  for  a  while. 

Between  the  date  of  Waterloo  and  to-day,  what  a  crowd  of  great 
men  has  come  and  gone  upon  the  theatre  of  European  events !  Turn 
and  turn  about,  kings  and  mountebanks,  poets,  philosophers,  pat 
riots,  novelists,  dramatists,  and  demagogues,  have  had  their  hour ; 
but  one  figure  has  remained  throughout  the  whole  series  of  exits 
and  entrances,  playing  on  occasion  the  part  of  each  of  the  others — 
now  poet,  now  novelist,  now,  alas !  mountebank — growing  continu 
ally  in  size,  like  the  genius  of  the  Arabian  Nights,  till  his  shadow 
has  filled  the  earth.  If  he  did  not  literally  play  the  part  of  king,  it 
was  because,  according  to  M.  Zola,  he  did  still  better:  from  being  a 
hero  in  the  republic  of  1848,  he  was  promoted  by  Jiis  exile  to  the 
rank  of  a  demigod.  From  the  day  when  Chateaubriand  did  not  call 
him  an  "enfant  sublime"  simply  because  the  phrase  had  already 


*  Thtdtre  en  Liberty  I  vol.  8vo.     Paris  :  Quantin,  1886.    La  Fin  de  Satan,  I  vol.  Svo. 
Paris:  Quantin,  1886. 

I 


2  VICTOR  HUGO. 

been  applied  to  him  by  another,*  till  the  time  when  he  was  able,  as 
a  brother  power,  to  set  the  Queen  of  England  right  as  to  her  duties, 
without  anybody  laughing,  his  career  was  an  almost  unbroken  suc 
cess.  He  revolutionized  letters,  headed  a  school,  was  the  terror  of 
the  empire,  and  died  the  idol  of  his  country.  That  he  was  once 
made  a  peer  of  France  and  a  member  of  the  Academy  were  distinc 
tions  so  by  the  way  that  we  fancy  most  people  never  heard  of  them. 
His  biographers,  with  Mr.  Swinburne  to  swell  their  chorus,  claim  that 
the  nineteenth  century  will  hereafter  be  labelled  with  his  name,  as 
the  fifth  B.  C.  was  with  that  of  Pericles.  We  have  lately  read,f 
apropos  of  La  Fin  de  Satan,  that  the  modern  Dante  has  left  an  epi 
logue  to  the  Divina  Commedia  suited  to  modern  needs.  Really,  we 
must  take  down  the  earlier  volumes  of  the  author,  brush  the  dust 
from  the  tops,  and  see  to  what  extent  our  opinion  of  him  stands  in 
need  of  a  revision. 

I. 

It  has  been  said  that  Mme.  de  Stael  introduced  Romanticism  into 
France  with  her  book  De  FAllemagne,  but,  in  fact,  the  doctrines  she 
preached  found  minds  quite  prepared  for  their  reception.  Indeed, 
Chateaubriand  had  been  a  romantic  before  the  time,  and  Andre 
Chenier  had  already  written  verse  too  warm  and  free  for  the  classic 
mould.  The  literary  forms  of  the  eighteenth  century  were  dead, 
along  with  the  spirit  that  made  use  of  them.  If  Boileau  and  La 
Harpe  reigned  still,  it  was  because  no  one  as  yet  had  openly  de 
clared  their  deposition.  But  there  was  a  great  fermentation  going 
on  in  the  veins  of  youth,  and  it  was  gathering  force  from  the  study 
of  other  literatures — German,  Spanish,  and  especially  English.  The 
little  band,  formed  about  1820,  of  which  Victor  Hugo  soon  became 
the  acknowledged  head,  began  modestly  enough,  though  confidence 
in  themselves  was  not  wanting  among  their  qualities.  The  first  odes 
of  the  young  chief  differed  from  other  poems  of  the  same  time  only 
in  showing  exceptional  skill  in  the  manipulation  of  language  and  in 
a  certain  freshness  of  imagination.  But  new  ideas  were  gradually 
assuming  shape,  and  one  day,  in  1827,  they  were  uttered  to  an  as 
tounded  world  in  the  famous  Preface  to  Cromwell — seventy  pages 

*  Victor  Hugo  himself  would  appear  to  have  invented  the  phrase  along  with  its  pater 
nity.  Chateaubriand  indignantly  denied  ever  having  said  such  a  thing,  and  at  last  the 
entourage  of  the  great  poet,  loath  to  give  up  entirely  so  flattering  a  legend,  devised  the 
form  of  it  indicated  above. 

f  Mr.  Swinburne,  in  the  Athenaum  of  July  10. 


VICTOR  HUGO.  3 

of  mingled  absurdity  and  commonplace  that  we  of  to-day  read  with 
a  smile,  if  we  read  them  at  all.  Not  so  the  men  to  whom  the 
Preface  was  addressed.  It  was  a  declaration  of  revolt  and  inde 
pendence.  It  was  the  starting-point  of  a  new  school,  of  a  new  lite 
rature  ;  it  meant  a  war  of  extermination  against  old  canons,  the 
overthrow  of  old  idols,  and  it  produced  an  effect  out  of  all  propor 
tion  to  its  value  as  a  work  of  letters.  The  passionate  adherence  of 
one  party  was  met  by  a  storm  of  abuse,  prompted  by  something  like 
real  hatred,  from  the  other.  The  "  classics  "  had  not  only  the  Pre 
face,  but  the  7,000  lines  of  the  drama  to  tear  to  pieces.  The  work 
afforded  plenty  of  matter  for  legitimate  criticism,  but  their  rage 
spared  the  beauties  no  more  than  the  defects.  It  was  the  virulence 
of  a  losing  side.  The  innovators,  on  the  other  hand,  treated  their 
opponents  with  scorn,  as  " fierruques"  as  " e'piciers"  as  "philistins" 
as  " bourgeois"  in  all  the  joy  as  well  as  confidence  of  youth.  The 
warfare  was  a  long  one.  Maxim e  du  Camp,  in  his  Souvenirs  litte'- 
raires  (Tom.  I.,  p.  134),  gives  an  amusing  instance  of  the  feeling 
aroused  apropos  of  the  Orientates,  and  another,  later,  when,  as  a 
student,  he  was  put  into  confinement  for  four  days  because  a  copy 
of  the  Feuilles  d'Automne  had  been  found  in  his  desk. 

We  may  remark,  by  the  way,  that  the  victors  have  since  exagge 
rated  their  own  prowess  and  the  absurdity  of  their  opponents.  There 
was  also  a  reasonable  opposition,  which,  in  its  turn,  excited  hatred. 
Sainte  Beiive  has  never  been  forgiven  his  desertion  of  the  romantic 
cause,  though  his  pen  wrote  of  it  always  with  reserve ;  and  Gustave 
Planche,  an  admirable  fault-finder,  who  wrote  of  Victor  Hugo  fifty 
years  ago  what  might  to-day  almost  pass  as  the  final  word  of  criti 
cism,  was  treated  to  boundless  hatred.  Toward  such  an  enemy  the 
adherents  of  the  poet  could  not,  even  in  the  flush  of  triumph,  afford 
to  be  generous. 

In  days  when  our  passions  are  aroused  by  things  of  quite 
another  sort,  these  quarrels  over  questions  purely  literary  excite 
wonder.  Later  in  life  Victor  Hugo  stirred  up  against  himself  politi 
cal  and  religious  animosities;  but  the  battle  over  the  Orientales 
was  complicated  by  no  such  considerations.  The  poet's  sins  were 
that  he  distributed  the  caesura  in  a  manner  not  sanctioned  by  the 
practice  of  Racine ;  that  he  put  a  noun  in  one  line  and  its  adjec 
tive  in  the  next ;  that  he  avoided  periphrases,  and  preferred  one 
direct  word  to  six  that  reached  the  meaning  "  about  the  bush,"  so  to 
speak ;  that  he  went  back  to  forms  of  versification  and  usages  of  the 


4  VICTOR  HUGO. 

times  of  Ronsard  and  the  older  poets,  while  adding  something  in 
dividual  and  all  his  own.  We  will  refer  those  who  wish  to  know 
exactly  the  difference  between  the  technical  peculiarities  introduced 
by  Victor  Hugo  and  those  of  the  hundred  and  fifty  years  preceding 
him,  to  the  admirable  Traite  generate  de  Versification  franqaise  of 
M.  Becq  de  Fouquieres.  Enough  for  this  place  that  the  poet  made 
good  his  revolution,  that  he  freed  French  verse  from  shackles  that 
had  become  intolerable,  that  he  found  his  language  a  poor  instru 
ment  for  poetry  and  left  it  a  perfect  one.  Add  to  these  qualities  a 
color  and  picturesqueness  hitherto  unknown  in  French  poetry,  an 
unexampled  power  of  adapting  sound  to  sense,  and  always  the 
"  grand  air  "  giving  dignity  to  the  veriest  trifles. 

All  this  refers  to  the  mechanism  of  poetry.  Victor  Hugo  was  in 
these  respects  marvellously  endowed  from  the  beginning  ;  his  man 
ner,  of  course,  was  perfected  by  practice  until  it  found  its  complete 
expression  in  the  first  series  of  the  Legende  des  Sttcles.  The  lan 
guage,  with  its  rhymes  and  its  rhythms,  had  become  to  such  an  ex 
tent  his  instrument  that  he  wielded  it  as  a  juggler  his  paraphernalia. 
But,  by  the  fatality  that  compels  a  lyric  poet  to  sing  even  when 
the  song  is  dead  within  him,  Victor  Hugo  went  on.  He  rattled 
all  the  munitions  of  his  vocabulary,  the  abysms  and  infinities  and 
immensities,  about  the  walls  of  his  poor  dried  brain  and  heart ;  and 
the  emptier  and  drier  they  became  the  more  sound  they  gave  out. 
His  vocabulary  itself,  which,  up  to  the  turning-point  of  his  power, 
had  merely  kept  pace  with  the  splendor  of  his  imagery,  underwent 
with  his  decadence  a  process  of  inflation  ;  and  up  to  the  end  the 
disproportion  between  the  frigidity  and  thinness  of  the  conceit  and 
the  big,  pompous  words  used  to  clothe  it  is  ever  more  and  more 
remarkable.  In  the  second  posthumous  volume,  La  Fin  de  Satan, 
the  maximum  of  sound  and  the  minimum  of  sense  seem  to  have 
been  reached  together.  The  period  of  best  achievement  was  of 
exceptional  length,  covering  thirty  years,  from  the  publication  of 
the  Orientates  in  1829  to  that  of  the  Legende  des  Siecles  in  1859. 
There  were  very  bad  things  done  in  this  period — notably,  a  great 
part  of  the  indignant  declamation  of  the  earlier  years  of  his  exile — 
and  there  were  plenty  of  good  things  done  afterward,  notably,  Les 
Misdrables  ;  but  during  all  these  years,  in  spite  of  blemishes  that  we 
shall  indicate  directly,  the  work  done  was  that  of  the  most  magnifi 
cently  endowed  lyric  poet  of  our  century,  not  excepting  either 
Goethe  or  Byron. 


VICTOR  HUGO.  5 

Heine,  in  one  of  his  several  mentions  of  Victor  Hugo,  has  a 
passage  that  seems  to  us,  in  its  way,  very  much  to  the  point : 

"  Yes,  Victor  Hugo  is  the  greatest  poet  of  France,  and,  what  is  saying  a  great 
deal,  he  might  take  a  place  even  in  Germany  among  the  poets  of  the  first  rank. 
He  has  fancy  and  soul  (Gemuth),  and  therewith  a  want  of  tact  such  as  you  will 
never  find  among  Frenchmen,  but  only  among  us  Germans.  His  intelligence  is 
lacking  in  harmony,  and  he  is  fuller  of  tasteless  excrescences  than  Grabbe  and 
Jean  Paul.  The  beautiful  moderation  that  we  admire  in  the  classical  authors  is 
wanting  in  him.  His  muse,  in  spite  of  her  splendor,  is  weighted  with  a  certain 
German  awkwardness.  With  regard  to  his  muse,  I  might  maintain  the  same 
thing  that  is  said  of  the  beautiful  Englishwoman  :  She  has  two  left  hands."  * 

It  is  true;  the  poet's  taste  was  a  singularly  capricious  quality: 
one  could  never  tell  when  it  was  going  to  fail  him,  and  it  failed  so 
often  that  his  volumes  are  full  of  plump  surprises  to  the  sensitive 
reader.  Then,  too,  grace,  lightness,  and  gayety  were  charms  that, 
from  the  beginning,  were  utterly  denied  to  him.  To  do  him  justice, 
he  generally  took  himself  so  seriously  that  he  would  have  scorned 
such  meretricious  attractions.  The  wilfully  inserted  "  grotesque  " 
scenes  in  Cromwell  and  his  other  dramas,  merely  put  there  to  set  off 
the  "  sublime  "  of  the  rest,  show  how  elephantine  were  his  notions  of 
pleasantry.  In  the  Chansons  des  Rues  et  des  Bois  the  lighter  poems 
are  simply  gross,  while  in  the  Theatre  en  Libertt  he  manages  quite 
often  to  be  both  clumsy  and  gross  at  the  same  time.  A  more  seri 
ous  defect — one  aspect,  indeed,  of  the  crowning  defect  of  his  poetry 
— is  the  repetition  in  which  he  indulges,  the  flood  of  conceits  and 
words,  words,  words  in  which  he  drowns  the  slenderest  ideas,  to 
the  serious  injury  of  many  even  of  his  best  pieces.  For  instance,  in 
Eviradnus,  one  of  the  two  greatest  "  of  all  the  romantic  and  tragic 
poems  of  mediaeval  history  or  legend,"  according  to  Mr.  Swinburne, 
we  are  told : 

"  Mais  ce  que  cette  salle,  antre  obscur  des  vieux  temps 
A  de  plus  se"pulcral  et  de  plus  redoutable, 
Ce  n'est  pas  le  flambeau,  ni  le  dais,  ni  la  table  ; 
C'est  le  long  de  deux  rangs  d'arches  et  de  piliers, 
Deux  files  de  chevaux  avec  leurs  chevaliers. 
Chacun  a  son  pilier  s'adosse  et  tient  sa  lance ; 
L'arme  droite,  ils  se  font  vis-a-vis  en  silence  ; 

****** 
Tous  se  taisent ;  pas  un  ne  bouge  ;  c'est  terrible. 

****** 
Chevaux  et  chevaliers  sont  des  armures  vides." 

*  Franzosische  Zustande.      Ueber  die  franzdsische  Biihne,  VI. 


6  VICTOR  HUGO. 

There  we  have  the  essential ;  but  the  poet  treats  us  to  five  pages, 
nothing  less,  of  conceits,  without  adding  a  single  statement  worth 
giving  to  those  just  cited.  He  informs  us,  it  is  true, 

"  Si  Satan  est  berger,  c'est  la  son  noir  be"tail. 
Pour  en  voir  de  pareils  dans  Pombre,  il  faut  qu'on  dorme  ; 
Us  sont  comme  engloutis  sous  la  housse  difforme  ; 
Les  cavaliers  sont  froids,  calmes,  graves,  arme's, 
Effroyables  ;  les  poings  lugubrement  ferme's 
Si  1'enfer  tout  a  coup  ouvrait  ces  mains  fantomes, 
On  verrait  quelque  lettre  affreuse  dans  leurs  paumes. 
De  la  brume  du  lieu  leur  stature  s'accroit. 
Autour  d'eux  1'ombre  a  peur  et  les  piliers  ont  froid." 

And  so  on,  and  worse.  This  may  all  be  magnificent  to  the  true 
Hugolatre,  but  to  us  it  appears  a  bit  of  perfectly  cold-blooded 
fustian.  We  see  in  it  the  poet  trying  to  lash  his  Pegasus  into  a  fury, 
when  the  beast,  left  to  itself,  would  indulge  in  a  commonplace  trot. 
The  poings  lugubrement  fermes  is  delicious,  though  we  cannot  fancy 
its  ever  having  had  any  meaning,  even  to  the  poet  himself. 

By  the  way,  what  a  subject  that  hall  of  armor  would  have  been 
for  Gustave  Dore" !  What  a  mine  of  subjects  the  series  of  Ltgendes  ! 
There  was  surely  a  harmony  between  the  talent  of  the  versifier  and 
that  of  the  illustrator,  and  we  hold  that  it  was  a  thousand  pities  that 
the  latter,  instead  of  wasting  his  time  over  the  Bible,  and  Dante,  and 
Milton,  had  not  given  himself  to  Eviradnus  and  Ratbert,  Zim-Zizimi 
and  L'Aigle  du  Casque.  He  might  have  rivalled,  perhaps  surpassed, 
his  illustrations  to  the  Contes  drolatiques.  He  and  the  poet  had  so 
much  in  common  !  Fantastic  perspectives,  inverted  proportions, 
false  light  and  shade,  love  of  the  grotesque,  contempt  for  exact 
detail.  Dor6's  only  difficulty  would  have  been  to  add  anything  of 
his  own  to  the  material  furnished  by  his  subject. 

The  example  just  given  was  not  selected — we  opened  the  volume 
at  random — and  it  is,  unfortunately,  far  from  single.  Such  redun 
dancy  spoils  a  great  deal  of  Victor  Hugo's  best  work.  Sometimes 
disguising,  sometimes  accentuating,  a  want  of  real  feeling,  and  some 
times  indulged  in  for  the  sake  of  gratifying  his  inborn  love  of  what, 
for  want  of  a  better  name,  we  must  call  a  lyrical  Jack-in-the-box — 
piling  up  the  pages  of  rhetoric  in  order  to  spring  upon  the  reader  at 
the  end  a  single  epigrammatic  or  antithetic  line.  Read,  for  example, 
in  the  Orientales,  La  Douleur  du  Pacha,  in  the  Feuilles  d'Autoinne,  La 
Pente  de  la  Reverie  (one  of  the  finest  things  in  the  book),  in  the 
Ugende  des  Siecles  almost  anything  in  the  volume. 


VICTOR  HUGO.  7 

We  may  as  well  say  it  at  once:  the  Legende  des  Sticks,  the 
most  perfect  rhymed  work  in  the  French  language,  as  far  as  techni 
cal  qualities  are  concerned,  fascinating  by  the  richness  of  its  melody, 
splendid,  too,  as  manifestation  of  a  brilliant,  picturesque,  and  alto 
gether  peculiar  imagination,  is  also  for  us  the  full-blown  example  of 
every  defect  the  poet  had,  excepting  only  those  incident  to  old  age, 
when  feebleness  sometimes  conspired  with  bombast  to  show  all  that 
a  great  writer  should  not  be  guilty  of.  We  hardly  know  where  to 
begin  in  order  to  justify  our  attitude  toward  a  book  which,  it  is 
claimed,  puts  its  author  in  the  same  rank  with  Homer,  Isaiah,  Dante, 
and  Shakespeare.  Even  after  summoning  the  courage  of  our  con 
victions,  we  are  tempted  to  begin  with  the  Preface,  as  usual,  the  part 
of  the  volume  which  even  his  friends  abandon  to  the  enemy.  It 
is  impossible  to  treat  seriously  the  pretence  that  these  inventions  of 
the  Hugonian  imagination  are  the  outcome  of  a  serious  philosophy 
of  existence,  that  they  are  "  empreintes  prises  .  .  .  sur  le  vif  de  Vhis- 
toire"  We  would  not  contradict  him,  however,  when  he  goes  on  to 
say  they  are  "  empreintes  moulces  sur  le  masque  des  siecles"  as  the 
contradiction  could  be  maintained  only  by  somebody  who  could 
pretend  to  an  understanding  of  the  phrase.  But  even  such  an  one 
would  hardly  assert  that  the  Mourad,  the  Eviradnus,  the  Fabrice 
of  the  Legende  ever  had  counterparts  in  any  world  save  that  of  the 
brain  of  Victor  Hugo,  where  the  creatures,  by  the  way,  all  wear  a 
stronger  family  likeness  among  themselves  than  could  be  found  in 
the  world  of  real  men. 

Not  for  a  moment  would  we  refuse  our  tribute  of  admiration  to 
this  series  of  portraits,  if  not  like  the  originals  whose  names  they 
bear,  at  least  gigantic,  drawn  with  a  free  hand,  vigorous  and  rich  in 
coloring,  with  a  setting  that  reminds  us  curiously  of  that  of  the 
pictures  of  the  saints  in  the  old  Russian  churches — gold,  embossed 
in  arabesques,  and  flashing  with  gems.  In  spite  of  an  infinite  variety 
of  pattern,  the  general  effect  is  always  the  same.  Indeed,  as  a  whole, 
the  series  of  the  Legende  des  Siecles  may  well  be  compared  to  the 
interior  of  the  famous  cathedral  of  the  Kremlin,  as  we  first  saw  it 
when  we  were  young,  in  the  deepening  twilight  of  a  long  summer 
evening.  The  jewels  and  gold,  married  to  harmonies  of  color  as 
sumptuous  as  themselves,  mount  up  and  stretch  away  until  they  are 
lost  above  and  around  in  a  resplendent  gloom.  Dim  figures  here 
and  there,  prostrate  in  prayer,  or  moving  about  like  spectres,  vary 
the  scene  without  disturbing  its  quiet.  Suddenly,  from  out  a  dark 


8  VICTOR  HUGO. 

corner  bursts  the  superb  music  of  the  Russian  Church,  the  only  thing 
needed,  and  the  only  thing  possible,  for  completing  the  mysterious 
accord  of  color  and  splendor  with  obscurity.  We  have  received  a 
profound  impression,  and  we  cannot  be  quite  robbed  of  it  afterward 
when  we  discover  that  the  cathedral  is  not  nearly  so  large  as  we  had 
thought  it,  that  not  all  its  splendor  is  real,  and  that  its  art  is  half 
way  barbaric. 

And  we  cannot  help  feeling  that  the  means  used  in  the  Le'gende 
des  Sticles  to  secure  effect  are  as  strange  to  our  civilization  as  is  the 
Russo-Byzantine  ecclesiastical  art.  There  is  redundance  of  riches, 
with  rudeness  of  form ;  there  is  ornament,  ill-applied  and  unrefined 
in  detail.  Let  us  break  loose  from  the  metaphor.  The  first  fault 
of  the  poems,  with  few  exceptions,  is  that  they  would  be  better  at 
half  their  length.  In  Eviradnus  there  are  not  only  the  five  pages, 
already  mentioned,  of  heavy  rhetoric  about  the  armor  of  the  hall, 
but  Eviradnus  himself,  before  slaying  his  two  victims,  treats  them 
to  three  pages  of  eloquence!  We  shall  find  the  same  defect  fur 
ther  on,  in  the  dramas.  Bivar  gives  us  two  pages  of  talk  in  order 
to  get  two  lines  of  reply  out  of  the  Cid.  That  is  a  case  of  Jack-in- 
the-box.  And  how  they  talk  in  Ratbert !  The  bishop  talks,  the 
podestk  talks,  the  good  Fabrice  of  Albenga  talks — all  of  them  for 
pages  together.  Indeed,  the  three  pages  of  Fabrice's  lament  over 
the  body  of  Isora  go  far  toward  weakening  our  sense  of  the  wrong 
done  .the  old  man.  Grief,  even  so  voluble,  might  command  sympa 
thy  were  it  only  real ;  but  it  is  fatally  evident  that  all  this  passion 
is  nothing  but  the  poet's  delight  in  stringing  one  rhyme  after  an 
other.  His  indifference  to  the  sufferings  of  his  characters  is  Olym 
pian  ;  his  business  is  to  furnish  all  the  verses  possible  for  their  occa 
sions.  Did  ever  a  grandfather,  in  anguish  over  the  body  of  his 
beloved  child,  the  light  of  his  eyes,  talk  thus : 

"Est-ce  qu'il  est  permis  d'aller  dans  les  abimes 
Reculer  la  limite  effroyable  des  crimes, 
De  voler,  oui,  ce  sont  des  vols,  de  faire  un  tas 
D'abominations,  de  maux  et  d'attentats, 
De  tuer  des  enfants  et  de  tuer  des  femmes, 
Sous  pre"texte  qu'on  fut,  parmi  les  oriflammes 
Et  les  clairons,  sacre"  devant  le  monde  entier 
Par  Urbain  Quatre,  pape  et  fils  d'un  savetier  !  " 

When  the  rage  of  versifying  takes  hold  of  a  man  to  such  an  ex 
tent  that  he  is  utterly  insensible  to  the  passion  he  would  portray  in 
the  joy  of  saying  odd  things,  and  measuring  and  matching  syllables 


VICTOR  HUGO.  9 

over  it,  he  may  beat  Cowley  in  quips  and  cranks,  he  may  be  melo 
dious  as  Shelley,  he  may  succeed  in  embodying  the  prophetic  fury 
of  Carlyle  in  the  happy  swing  of  Byron,  but  he  will  never  put  any 
life  into  the  personages  of  his  story. 

Failures  of  taste — as  bad  as  those  of  which  Heine  talked,  per 
haps  even  worse — are  not  wanting  in  the  Ltgende  des  Siecles.  Rat- 
bert,  from  beginning  to  end,  is  bristling  with  examples.  Its  sham  me- 
diaevalism,  sham  sentiment,  sham  pathos,  and  sham  horror,  wind  up, 
while  we  are  still  in  disgust  over  the  crowning  scene  of  bloodshed, 
with  the  vision  of  an  archangel  wiping  his  reeking  sword  upon  a 
cloud !  This  bit  of  the  grotesque  can  plead  in  extenuation  of  itself 
only  that  it  is  of  a  piece  with  a  good  deal  of  the.  rest  of  the  book; 
but  it  is  precisely  when  one  is  wearied  with  that  rest  that  such  an 
absurdity  is  most  revolting.  If  our  criticism  seem  to  any  one  a  fail 
ure  in  sympathy,  we  advise  him  to  turn  back  to  the  concluding  lines 
of  the  Jour  des  Rois,  and  if  he  still  resist,  we  compliment  him  on 
his  stomach. 

We  own,  however,  that  we  might  bear  up  against  the  grosser 
lapses  from  taste,  were  it  not  for  the  unceasing  outrage  committed 
by  the  poet's  vocabulary  in  the  Legende.  There  was  a  time  when,  on 
occasion,  he  wrote  simply,  but  that  was  in  the  days  when  his  heart 
had  still  something  to  say,  and  he  was  not  reduced  to  making  a 
simulacrum  of  feeling  out  of  resounding  words.  It  is  when  one's 
patience  is  strained  by  finding  on  every  page  the  same  immensite, 
tencbres,  ombrey  abime,  and  so  on,  that  one  becomes  severe  against  the 
inevitable  infractions  of  taste.  The  poet's  special  vocabulary  forms 
a  troupe  with  about  twenty  star  performers  and  two  or  three  score 
faithful  comparses,  and  these  are  charged  with  the  representation  of 
every  role,  sacred  or  profane,  grotesque  or  sublime.  Well  and  good, 
were  they  only  modest,  conscientious  actors,  but  they  are  terrible 
ranters,  who  "  tear  their  passion  to  tatters,"  and  sadly  fatigue  the  ear. 

This  special  vocabulary  is  largely,  perhaps  chiefly,  used  in  the 
service  of  imagery,  the  conceits  and  fancies  that  crowd  the  pages  of 
the  poet.  The  imagination  of  Victor  Hugo  was  astonishingly  vigor 
ous  and  agile,  and  trained  to  perform  the  most  wonderful  feats.  We 
are  still  dazzled  by  them ;  but  we  confess  to  ourselves  that  better 
than  all  these  gymnastics  is  any  one  of  many  poems  of  Alfred  de 
Musset,  where  grace  and  tenderness  are  inborn,  and  where  the 
accent  of  passion  rings  true  for  any  heart  that  lives  and  has  known 
suffering. 


10  VICTOR  HUGO. 

We  have  at  last  touched  upon  our  great  grievance  against  Victor 
Hugo.  His  egotism — the  most  stupendous  and  outspoken  since 
Cicero,  of  which  a  hundred  poems  make  us  the  confidant,  which  early 
in  life  alienated  from  him  most  of  the  friends  who  were  unable  to 
be  mere  satellites  of  his  glory — has  reacted  upon  his  verse,  and  has 
deprived  it  of  that  crowning  charm  that  establishes  for  us  a  relation 
ship  between  the  dissolute  De  Musset  and  the  saint,  Francis  of  As- 
sisi.  No  great  poet  ever  had  so  little  of  the  human  in  him  as  Hugo. 
We  say  this  in  the  face  of  the  exaggerated  humanitarianism  he  pro 
fessed  in  later  life,  and  which  made  him  the  champion  of  many  a 
disreputable  cause.  Words,  versification,  imagery — sometimes,  too, 
ideas — were,  aside  from  his  own  glory,  his  great  preoccupations. 
And  yet,  at  given  moments,  he  has  touched  the  chord  that  vibrates 
in  the  inmost  recesses  of  the  heart : 

"  La  borne  du  chemin,  qui  vit  des  jours  sans  nombre, 
Ou  jadis  pour  m'attendre  elle  aimait  a.  s'asseoir, 
S'est  use"e  en  heurtant,  lorsque  la  route  est  sombre, 
Les  grands  chars  ge"missants  qui  reviennent  le  soir."* 

There  is  in  those  lines  the  quality  which  made  people  sometimes 
say  of  certain  great  singers,  that  they  had  "des  larmes  dans  la  voix" 
The  quality  is  so  precious  in  Victor  Hugo  that  we  dare  not  assert 
that  he  has  kept  it  even  throughout  the  lovely  poem  wherein  the 
stanza  occurs.  Yet  it  is  found  here  and  there  in  the  earlier  volumes 
of  his  poetry.  Be  thankful  when  you  come  across  it,  but  do  not 
seek  it;  the  search  may  make  you  lose  sight  of  the  real,  undeniable 
quality  of  his  best  work — imagination  embodied  in  wonderful  verse. 
The  imagination  may  be  responsible  for  many  of  the  sins  of  the 
poet,  but  it  was  also  his  great  force — his  greatest  force — since  those 
marvellous  powers  of  expression  by  which  it  found  utterance  must, 
as  the  mere  technical  part,  be  put  in  the  second  rank.  And  from 
the  day  when  youth  first  read,  and  re-read,  and  dreamed  of,  and 
imitated  the  lines  in  the  Orientates, 

"Murs,  ville, 
Et  port, 
Asile, 
De  mort, 
Mer  grise 
Ou  brise 
La  brise, 
Tout  dort, ' — 

*  La  Tristesse  d*  Olympic,  in  the  Rayons  et  Ombres. 


VICTOR  HUGO.  II 

to  the  days  when  he  sang  Les  Pauvres  Gens  with  something  of  the 
imperfection  of  his  perfected  manner,  it  is  true,  but  also  with  a  ten 
derness  and  relative  simplicity  enough  to  cover  many  sins,  what 
surprises  and  what  pleasures  has  that  imagination  furnished  to  the 
world !  Surrender  yourself  to  its  charm,  not  asking  of  it  what  it 
cannot  give,  and  it  has  a  store  of  pure  joys  to  bestow.  Turn  over 
the  pages  of  his  various  volumes ;  in  reading  whatever  attracts,  you 
will  surely  find  plenty  to  justify  the  rank  accorded  to  Victor  Hugo 
as  the  greatest  versifier  of  his  country  and  of  our  century,  who  at 
certain  given  moments  is  also  the  greatest  lyric  poet. 

II. 

Even  the  unlettered  public  knows  something  of  the  dramas  of 
Victor  Hugo.  Their  action,  at  least,  is  familiar  to  the  opera-goer 
in  all  lands.  Hernani,  Le  Roi  s' amuse  (Rigoletto),  Lucrtce  Borgia, 
Marion  Delorme,  Ruy  Bias — ah,  what  pleasure  have  they  given  us 
all !  How  many  nights  have  we  sat,  with  half-shut  eyes,  listening  to 
the  sweet  strains  that  chanted  the  most  terrible  passions,  the  most 
heart-rending  situations !  It  seems  hardly  credible  that  they  were 
written  to  be  spoken,  and  not  sung.  Excellent  as  libretti,  how  are 
they  as  plays? 

Their  fortune  has  been  exceedingly  varied.  The  four  volumes  of 
the  Theatre  read  like  the  history  of  a  war;  skirmishes  in  the  pre 
faces,  pitched  battles  at  the  representations,  sieges  and  prolonged 
defences  in  the  shape  of  suits  before  the  law  courts.  There  were 
disastrous  victories  and  happy  defeats.  Marion  Delorme  and  Le 
Roi  s  amuse  were  forbidden  by  the  censorship,  the  former  under 
Charles  X.,  the  latter  under  Louis  Philippe,  and,  naturally,  during 
long  years  they  were  greatly  esteemed  though  they  were  not  played. 
The  Burgraves  failed  utterly  on  the  stage.  As  for  the  others,  from 
the  night  of  the  famous  first  representations  of  Hernani,  when 
"  Young  France,"  after  waiting  at  the  doors  of  the  Comedie  Fran- 
^aise  from  noon  till  evening,  put  the  classical  enemy  to  rout  with 
great  confusion,  and,  according  to  the  legend,  celebrated  the  victory 
after  the  play  by  dancing  around  in  the  foyer  to  shouts  of  "  Enfonce 
Racine !  " — from  that  night,  in  spite  of  checks,  the  success  grew  even 
more  stupendous.  This  is  the  story  as  given  by  disciples.  On 
the  other  hand,  it  is  claimed  that  the  success  was  in  reality  largely 
one  of  a  noisy  clique,  and  that  the  opposition  was  not  composed 
merely  of  effete  "  classics,"  but  also  of  many  men  of  sense,  whose 


12  VICTOR  HUGO. 

judgment  refused  to  surrender  to  a  clamor.  These  had  afterward 
to  hold  their  opinion  against  the  generous  enthusiasm  that  spoke 
only  good  things  of  the  exile  of  Guernsey;  and  later,  when  he 
returned  to  Paris  as  a  demi-god,  the  tutelary  divinity  of  liberty, 
equality,  and  fraternity,  against  the  superstitious  devotion  that  ap 
plauded  the  plays  as  sacred  and  inspired.*  The  doubters  may  well 
have  been  discouraged.  Their  turn,  however,  came,  even  before  the 
poet's  death.  In  1882  the  political  illusion  had  somewhat  faded,  and 
Le  Roi  s1  amuse  was  revived  and  fell  flat.  Last  year  Marion  Delorme 
was  brought  out  at  the  Ode'on,  and  failed  even  more  signally.  The 
audience  found  that  the  play  dragged.  The  second  act,  with  its 
long  dispute  about  Corneille,  in  which  the  allusion  to  Victor  Hugo 
himself  was  more  than  suspected,  was  but  an  interruption.  The 
third  act,  with  the  wilful  grotesque  of  the  strolling  players  and  the 
cheap  erudition  in  forgotten  poetry,  was  another  interruption.  The 
fourth  act,  with  the  indecisions  and  ennuis  of  the  king,  advanced 
nothing,  and  was  a  third  interruption.  The  fifth  act  came  too  late 
to  revive  the  public  from  its  fatigue.  It  was  then  generally  discov 
ered  that  the  dramas,  that  had  been  vaunted  as  continuing  Shake 
speare  and  Corneille,  were  dead  for  our  age — as  dead  as  the  tra 
gedies  of  Dryden.  Possible  exception  is  sometimes  made  in  favor 
of  Hernani  and  Ruy  Bias ;  not  that  the  history  is  any  more  history 
or  the  humanity  any  more  humanity  in  them  than  in  the  rest,  but 
as  if  Spain  were  a  land  outside  of  the  realm  of  natural  laws,  where 
action  might  be  ruled  by  the  fancy  of  a  romantic  poet. 

The  downfall  is  a  sad  one,  after  the  tremendous  pretensions  of 
Victor  Hugo,  who  asked,  in  the  preface  to  Marion,  why  1831  should 
not  be  the  epoch  for  the  appearance  of  a  poet  who  should  be  to 
Shakespeare  what  Napoleon  was  to  Charlemagne  ?  who  repeatedly 
intimated  that  he  was  showing  what  Corneille  might  have  done 
had  Corneille  only  been  able  to  wield  verse  as  did  he,  Hugo.  Why, 
then,  has  the  public  refused  to  sanction  the  opinion  of  the  author 
as  to  these  dramas  ? 

We  leave  Cromwell  out  of  the  question  ;  it  was  simply  impossi 
ble,  even  for  the  makers  of  opera  text.  Its  preface,  however,  had 
importance.  Its  publication  was  an  event.  We  said,  awhile  ago, 
that  it  was  mingled  absurdity  and  commonplace ;  the  absurdity 
was  there  in  abundance,  but  we  should  have  been  more  correct 

*  Some  of  them  were  put  upon  the  stage  in  those  days,  and,  indeed,  one  or  two  of  them 
had  been  allowed  toward  the  end  of  the  Empire — with  what  success  may  be  imagined. 


VICTOR  HUGO.  13 

with  regard  to  the  commonplace,  had  we  added  that  it  did  not 
seem  such  at  the  moment  of  its  appearance.  It  contains  the 
principle  of  modern  drama.  The  classical  tragedy,  we  are  told, 
gave  "  abstract  types  of  a  purely  metaphysical  idea."  That  is,  the 
personages,  few  in  number,  exhibited  in  action  of  extreme  simpli 
city  the  essential  characteristics  of  human  nature,  those  which  are 
equally  true  for  all  times  and  in  all  countries.  The  modern  drama, 
on  the  other  hand,  was  as  complicated  as  the  tragedy  was  simple. 
It  aimed  at  a  complete  representation  of  life,  it  included  comedy  along 
with  tragedy,  it  reposed  upon  reality,  and  set  before  us  men,  not  in 
general,  but  as  they  were  in  all  their  complexity  at  a  given  time, 
and  in  given  circumstances  and  surroundings.  As  a  consequence  it 
must  go  hand-in-hand  with  history.  Scenes,  manners,  even  details 
such  as  furniture  and  costume  were  to  be  studied,  as  well  as  events, 
in  order  that  the  stage  might  render  a  complete  and  true  reflection 
of  nature.  Nothing  could  be  better,  and  it  will  always  be  a  debt  that 
France  owes  to  Victor  Hugo,  that  he  helped  to  prepare  the  way  for 
a  real  modern  drama. 

As  for  his  own  practice,  however,  that  reserved  a  succession  of 
surprises  to  those  who  thought  the  poet  should  be  bound  by  his  own 
principles,  enunciated  not  only  in  the  preface  to  Cromwell,  but  also 
repeatedly  in  his  other  prefaces.  In  fact,  while  principles  remained, 
the  practice  kept  constantly  diverging  more  and  more  from  them. 
To  account  for  this  we  may  advance  two  reasons. 

The  first  was  inherent  in  the  situation.  In  the  turbulence  of 
revolt  it  is  easier  to  throw  over  old  ideals  than  to  bring  to  perfec 
tion  a  new  one.  Clearly  as  Victor  Hugo  had  enunciated  the  main 
tenets  of  the  new  drama,  he  was  yet  uncertain  in  their  application. 
He  would  have  no  more  of  the  heroic  kings  and  regal  heroes  of 
Racine  ;  but  he  did  not  give  up  the  heroic  type ;  he  only  turned  it 
topsy-turvy,  and  made  it  more  stupendous  than  ever,  after  a  fashion 
of  his  own.  His  grandest  figures  are  a  bandit,  a  valet,  a  court  fool, 
an  emperor  turned  beggar,  and  several  harlots.  It  is  "  a  mad  world, 
my  masters !  " 

The  second  reason  was  in  the  nature  of  the  poet's  mind.  Evi 
dently  he  sees  things  as  he  states  them  ;  i.  e.,  as  a  series  of  antitheses. 
Shakespeare  was  the  great  model  for  the  modern  drama ;  in  him  na 
ture  was  represented  as  Victor  Hugo  would  wish  it  to  be.  What  was 
nature?  Misled  by  his  faculty  of  seeing  things  always  as  contrasts, 
he  resolves  nature  into  an  union  of  the  sublime  and  the  grotesque. 


14  VICTOR  HUGO. 

He  tried  this  prescription  in  Cromwell  by  the  introduction  of  four 
buffoons,  not  wanting  in  grotesqueness ;  but  the  play  is  not  Shakes 
pearian  for  all  that,  and  the  sublime  is  not  brought  out  by  the  con 
trast.  Moreover,  Victor  Hugo  always,  consistently  and  persistently, 
saw  human  nature  in  the  same  way.  In  the  preface  to  Lucrece,  the 
antithetical  prescription  is  plainly  brought  forth  with  regard  to  two 
plays. 

"The  idea  which  produced  Le  Roi  s' amuse  and  that  which  produced  Lucrece 
were  born  at  the  same  moment.  .  .  .  Take  the  most  hideous,  the  most  repulsive, 
the  most  complete  physical  deformity ;  .  .  .  cast  a  soul  into  it,  and  put  in  this 
soul  the  purest  sentiment  which  can  be  given  a  man,  the  paternal  sentiment.  .  .  . 
At  bottom,  you  have  Le  Roi  s'amuse.  Take  the  most  hideous,  the  most  repul 
sive,  the  most  complete  moral  deformity  .  .  .  and  now  mingle  with  all  this  moral 
deformity  a  pure  sentiment,  the  purest  a  woman  is  capable  of,  the  maternal  senti 
ment  ;  in  your  monster  place  a  mother  ;  and  the  monster  will  be  interesting.  .  .  . 
Paternity  sanctifying  physical  deformity,  that  is  Le  Roi  s'amuse  j  maternity  puri 
fying  moral  deformity,  that  is  Lucrece  Borgia" 

The  receipt  may  give  a  monster — indeed,  it  can  give  nothing  else 
— but  it  can  never  produce  a  human  being. 

And  yet  the  formula  never  varies.  Marion  is  pure,  self-sacrificing 
love,  with  corruption ;  so  is  Tisbe.  Even  the  situations  are  regu 
lated  by  the  same  law :  youth  is  put  by  the  side  of  age,  rank  with 
base  estate,  purity  with  vice,  grandeur  with  littleness.  Dona  Sol, 
young,  is  matched  with  Ruy  Gomez  the  octogenarian ;  Dofla  Sol,  of 
the  noblest  blood  of  Spain,  is  in  love  with  an  outlaw ;  Marion,  the 
facile,  loves  Didier,  the  misanthrope ;  Ruy  Bias,  the  valet,  loves  the 
queen.  Sometimes  the  opposition  is  a  little  more  complicated,  as 
where,  in  the  preface  to  Marie  Tudor,  he  tells  us  his  aim  was  "  to  set 
broadly  on  the  stage,  in  all  its  terrible  reality,  this  dread  triangle, 
which  appears  so  often  in  history :  a  queen,  a  favorite,  an  execu 
tioner."  It  is  almost  a  matter  of  course  that  what  he  did  put  upon 
the  stage  was  a  terrible  unreality.  How  could  it  be  otherwise  when 
the  mania  for  contrasts,  for  moral  antitheses,  is  nearly  the  whole 
of  his  science  of  human  existence  ? 

As  for  the  history  in  these  dramas,  it  is  as  fantastic  as  the  human 
nature.  The  author  boasts  loudly  of  his  accuracy  in  the  minutest 
details,  and  we  will  not  undertake  to  deny  that  he  may  here  and 
there  be  exact  in  matters  of  costume  and  furniture,  though,  even 
then,  there  is  plenty  of  evidence  that  his  researches  have  been 
filtered  through  an  imagination  which  was  one  of  the  most  powerful 


VICTOR  HUGO.  15 

transforming  mediums  of  modern  times.*  As  for  the  events,  they 
were  entirely  of  his  own  fabrication,  at  least  after  Cromwell,  where 
he  did  history  the  honor  to  borrow  from  it  certain  incidents. 
Usually  he  invented  his  story,  combined  the  antitheses  that  he  chose 
to  call  characters,  and  then  applied  to  them  names  more  or  less 
well  known,  with  a  wardrobe  more  or  less  exactly  studied.  There 
was  a  Triboulet  in  history,  but  he  was  as  little  like  his  namesake  in 
Le  Rot  s  amuse  as  that  is  like  any  man  who  ever  lived.  Compare 
the  Charles  V.  of  Hernani,  or  the  Marie  Tudor,  with  the  personages 
whose  names  they  bear  !  When  it  comes  to  action,  his  wise  men 
act  like  idiots,  his  queens  like  washerwomen ;  we  cannot  pursue 
the  antithesis,  for  there  is  nobody  who  acts  like  a  reasonable  mortal. 
Of  only  one  thing  may  we  be  sure,  that,  if  these  characters  have 
anything  particularly  pressing  to  do,  they  will,  instead  of  doing  it, 
stop  to  talk.  Charles  V.,  for  instance,  when  he  ought  to  conceal 
himself  from  the  conspirators,  indulges  in  a  monologue  of  six  pages 
in  length  ! 

It  is  useless  to  pretend  that  such  figures  are  human  beings :  they 
are  but  puppets;  they  are  moved  by  the  hand  of  the  showman, 
and  they  speak  by  his  mouth.  And  that  is  their  one  great  quality, 
for  the  voice  is  that  of  a  great  lyric  poet.  The  monologue  of 
Charles  V.  is  dramatically  a  blunder,  but  Mr.  Swinburne  is  right  in 
calling  it  "  majestic  and  august."  The  same  may  be  said  of  other 
monologues  scattered  everywhere  through  these  plays;  they  are 
magnificent  as  poetry,  but  they  are  fatal  blemishes  in  the  works 
where  they  are  found.  They  are  verses  such  as  nobody  save  Victor 
Hugo  could  write,  only,  the  lyric  poet  who  lets  his  courser  take  the 
bit  in  its  teeth  and  bolt  with  its  rider  has  no  business  to  set  up  as  a 
dramatist.  A  witty  French  critic  f  recently  said  that  the  author  was 
continually  behind  the  scenes  watching  his  puppets,  and  when  any 
thing  came  into  his  head  that  he  wanted  to  say,  whether  related  to 
the  business  in  hand  or  not,  he  rushed  upon  the  stage,  put  himself 
in  the  place  of  the  personage  who  had  been  talking,  rhymed  away 
for  awhile,  then,  seizing  the  luckless  puppet,  that  meanwhile  had 

*  As  a  single  example  of  his  scrupulousness  in  accepting  evidence,  the  following  from 
the  preface  of  Lucrece  is  delightful :  "  A  ceux  qui  le  blament  d'avoir  accepte  sur  la  mort 
des  maris  de  Lucrece  certaines  rumeurs  populaires  a  demi-fahuleuses,  il  repondrait  que 
souvent  les  fables  du  peuple  font  la  ve'rite  du  poete."  We  may  add  that  the  popular  wholly 
fabulous  notion  of  Lucretia  Borgia  is  largely  owing  to  Victor  Hugo's  peculiar  conception 
of  verity. 

\  Maxime  Gaucher,  in  the  Revue  Bleue,  April  10,  1886. 


1 6  VICTOR  HUGO. 

been  standing  idle,  set  it  again  in  movement  and  let  it  go  on.  There 
is  but  one  genuinely  living  personage  in  all  the  plays,  and  his  fea 
tures  are  those  of  Victor  Hugo. 

It  was  one  piece  of  the  poet's  good  fortune,  in  a  life  singularly 
full  of  good  fortune,  that  his  dramas  were  during  so  many  years 
banished  from  the  stage.  Not  only  did  they  gain  the  sympathy  of 
generous  minds  by  the  fact  of  being  persecuted,  but  they  were  not 
exposed  to  the  searching  glare  of  the  foot-lights,  where  all  the  fail 
ures  of  construction,  the  want  of  reality  in  the  characters,  would 
soon  have  become  evident.  They  were  read  by  the  fireside,  and  the 
imagination  of  the  reader,  charmed  by  the  harmonious  flow  of  the 
verse,  the  picturesqueness  of  the  imagery,  the  lyric  fervor  of  the 
poet,  was  not  shocked  by  the  emptiness  of  the  personages.  Oh, 
wonderful  power  of  the  poet !  We  remember  one  eminent  critic 
who  was  present  at  the  failure  of  Le  Roi  s 'amuse,  and  was  among  the 
foremost  to  condemn  it,  and  then  went  home  and  read  over  the  play 
with  as  much  pleasure  as  ever. 

(Conclusion  in  the  next  number.) 


THE  PRESENT  POSITION  OF  PHILOSOPHY  IN  BRITAIN. 

THE  philosophic  problem  is  the  same  for  all  ages ;  the  treatment 
of  it  is  special  to  each  age.  Whatever  is  distinctive  and  novel  in 
form  is  in  some  measure  an  expression  of  the  position  reached.  It 
affords  some  index  to  the  movement  of  the  intellectual  life  of  the 
race.  The  thought  of  the  day  takes  a  distinct  form,  under  pressure 
of  the  demands  recognized  as  waiting  solution ;  just  as  the  build  of 
our  ships  tells  the  stage  of  enterprise  on  the  ocean  highway. 

There  is,  indeed,  an  obvious  analogy  between  philosophic  progress 
and  all  advance  of  human  enterprise,  notwithstanding  the  popular 
belief  that  philosophy  is  quite  apart  from  the  ordinary  walks  of 
men.  At  times  it  is  suggested  that  personal  influence  has  more  than 
an  ordinary  share  in  determining  the  successive  phases  of  philo 
sophic  thought.  Noted  theories  bear  the  mark  of  distinct  phases 
of  individual  genius,  flashing  out  with  meteoric  brightness  on  the 
intellectual  world,  and  by  and  by  disappearing  below  the  horizon, 
when  the  direct  influence  passes  away.  There  are  many  who  seem 
to  think  this  a  special  and  leading  characteristic  in  the  history  of 
philosophy.  But  this  is  a  mistake,  fostered  largely  by  the  circum 
stance  that  the  inner  detailed  history  of  philosophic  thought  is  lit 
tle  known  to  the  literary  public.  The  wide  circle  of  readers  is  most 
impressed  by  the  outstanding  names  that  are  being  constantly 
named  in  their  hearing.  In  reality,  there  is  nothing  occurring  in 
the  history  of  philosophy  essentially  different  from  the  relation  of 
events  in  the  ordinary  walks  of  life.  Whether  we  take  ship-build 
ing,  engineering,  fine  art,  or  observational  science,  it  will  be  found 
that  the  same  laws  of  progress  hold  good.  Into  whatever  region 
we  turn  for  purposes  of  comparison,  we  shall  find  that  the  laws  of 
progress  in  the  special  field  at  the  time  contemplated  are  in  reality 
the  laws  for  the  universe.  The  impress  of  individual  genius  is 
everywhere.  An  urgent  demand  rouses  genius  to  action.  Indi 
vidual  genius  either  directly  meets  this  demand,  or,  as  more  com 
monly  happens,  it  attracts  to  itself  and  stimulates  the  intellect  of 
the  race  ;  and  the  two  together  supply  the  momentum  which  creates 
the  history  of  progress.  This  is  the  key  to  all  enterprise,  invention, 


1 8        THE  PRESENT  POSITION  OF  PHILOSOPHY  IN  BRITAIN. 

and  action.  Only  as  it  is  the  common  law  of  advance,  does  it  hold 
good  in  the  history  of  philosophy.  The  law  of  progress  is  one, 
however  diverse  the  interests  involved,  or  brilliant  the  genius  ap 
pearing  in  any  field. 

Applying  the  principles  thus  indicated,  I  propose  to  consider  the 
present  position  of  philosophy  in  Britain,  not,  however,  as  if  British 
thought  were  a  thing  apart,  as  if  our  insular  position  separated  us 
from  other  nations ;  but  as  a  thing  sufficiently  distinct  to  have  its 
own  history  and  to  make  its  own  contribution  to  the  development 
of  philosophy,  with  all  the  special  advantages  belonging  to  its 
historic  position  among  the  English-speaking  nations. 

In  attempting  this,  the  first  requisite  is  to  make  account  of  the 
forces  at  work  as  well  as  of  the  prominent  historic  names,  chiefly, 
at  the  outset,  the  great  central  forces  giving  direction  to  history. 
Attention  must  be  given,  though  references  must  be  few  and  brief, 
to  the  manner  in  which  our  present  problems  have  been  shaped, 
and  philosophic  thought  carried  forward  to  the  position  now 
reached. 

The  best  landmark  by  which  to  restrict  the  range  of  observation 
and  secure  a  ready  and  easily  applied  test  is  to  be  found  in  the  scep 
ticism  of  Hume.  With  its  critical  and  destructive  effects  we  need 
not  seriously  concern  ourselves  here ;  but  mainly  with  its  demands, 
specially  as  subsequent  philosophic  thought  has  endeavored  to  meet 
them.  These  demands  may  be  reduced  to  a  single  utterance  in  the 
claim  for  certainty  of  knowledge  concerning  the  Universe,  Self,  and 
God.  The  meaning  of  this  claim  may  be  indicated  by  the  question, 
If  we  trust  to  experience,  can  we  have  certainty  as  to  any  one  of 
the  three  ?  If,  in  looking  into  the  primary  elements  of  our  experi 
ence,  and  into  the  laws  according  to  which  the  different  elements 
are  combined,  we  conclude  that  all  knowledge  takes  its  rise  in  the 
sensations  which  appear  for  a  moment  in  consciousness  and  straight 
way  disappear,  can  we  have  any  certainty  beyond  the  present  con 
sciousness,  which  is  at  each  moment  a  vanishing  quantity?  The 
difficulty  thus  presented  became  the  starting-point  for  a  new  move 
ment  of  thought,  Scottish,  German,  and  French.  Scotland,  as  best 
acquainted  with  her  own  son,  was  first  in  the  field,  Germany  went 
more  patiently  and  thoroughly  to  work,  France  followed  in  the 
wake  of  the  other  two  nations.  The  problem  was  to  find  the 
Real,  by  finding  a  true  philosophy  of  knowing;  to  define  human 
certainty,  and  to  ascertain  whether  it  had  a  realm  of  any  wider 


THE  PRESENT  POSITION  OF  PHILOSOPHY  IN  BRITAIN.        19 

extent  than  the  foothold  of  the  passing  moment.  This  is  the  key  to 
subsequent  British  philosophy,  as  represented  by  Reid,  Stewart, 
and  Hamilton,  all  of  them  Scotchmen  ;  to  German  thought,  as 
represented  by  Kant,  Fichte,  Schelling,  and  Hegel ;  and  to  French 
philosophy,  as  represented  by  Cousin  and  Jouffroy. 

Our  question  here  is  concerned  with  the  history  of  thought  sub 
sequent  to  these  thinkers,  discovering  their  influence  on  their  im 
mediate  successors,  and  the  traces  of  more  recent  intellectual  prog 
ress,  in  so  far  as  Britain  is  concerned.  The  speciality  of  British 
thought  has  been  a  somewhat  closer  and  readier  alliance  with 
physical  science  than  has  obtained  on  the  continent  of  Europe,  and 
in  this  alliance  Englishmen  have  had  a  prominent  part — Scotchmen 
having  clung  more  closely  to  the  traditions  connecting  them  with  a 
school  which  turned  inward  upon  mind  itself  with  zest  and  hope, 
rather  than  outward  on  the  field  of  material  existence. 

Where  are  now  the  British  Islands  in  relation  to  the  problem 
concerning  the  certainty  of  human  knowledge  ?  Before  a  true 
answer  can  be  given,  some  reference  must  be  made  to  the  posi 
tion  of  science  among  us.  That  the  British  people  have  in  recent 
years  taken  their  full  share  in  scientific  work,  and  have  conse 
quently  gathered  their  full  share  of  scientific  rewards,  are  facts  well 
known  ;  and  they  are  facts  having  an  important  bearing  on  the 
national  attitude  in  relation  to  philosophy.  While  pure  philosophy 
has  been  busy  with  the  more-elaborate  and  less-observed  work  of 
analytic  and  synthetic  study  of  the  conditions  of  thought,  a  scientific 
age  has  dawned  on  the  nations,  a  new  force  has  arisen,  to  influence 
the  whole  current  of  intellectual  life.  This  fact  has  exerted  a  mighty 
influence.  For  a  brief  season  science  may  be  said  to  have  over 
shadowed  philosophy,  and  even  to  have  thrown  it  so  deeply  into 
the  shade  as  to  have  involved  the  loss  of  the  conspicuous  place  it 
formerly  held.  Some  had  even  expressed  doubt  whether  philosophy 
would  ever  again  hold  the  position  in  Britain  which  it  had  done  be 
fore  the  full  blaze  of  scientific  discovery  broke  upon  us.  These  are 
passing,  and  even  already  remote,  phases  of  national  thought,  which 
must,  however,  be  noted  if  we  are  properly  to  understand  the  pres 
ent  position  of  philosophy. 

Some  may  demur  to  this  account  of  the  present  situation.  Phi 
losophy  and  science  may  be  treated  as  if  they  were  not  only  distinct, 
but  quite  apart  from  each  other ;  and  some  few  may  still  say  that 
they  are  antagonistic.  But  the  people  who  think  and  say  such 


20       THE  PRESENT  POSITION  OF  PHILOSOPHY  IN  BRITAIN. 

things  are  gradually  becoming  fewer,  and  soon  will  be  an  extinct 
race.  The  separation  of  philosophy  from  science  is  an  intellectual 
impossibility.  The  suspicion  of  it  is  only  a  passing  disturbance,  in 
dicating  how  imperfectly  the  human  mind  is  prepared  for  anticipat 
ing  and  interpreting  its  own  progress.  Science  and  philosophy  can 
not  even  be  long  kept  apart.  The  volume  of  intellectual  life  is  one, 
and  the  unifying  of  material  and  mental  science  is  a  result  toward 
which  the  deepest  intellectual  forces  must  work.  That  this  is  the 
direction  in  which  philosophy  itself  has  been  moving  is  clear.  If 
proof  be  desired,  it  may  be  found  in  the  fact  that  Hegel  and  Spen 
cer,  the  two  most  potent  leaders  of  the  period  immediately  behind 
us,  both  have  consecrated  their  best  efforts  to  the  elaboration  of  a 
theory  of  existence  regarded  as  a  whole.  If  they  have  been  directly 
occupied  with  a  theory  of  knowing,  it  is  always  with  the  object  of 
reaching  a  theory  of  being.  This  is  the  result  of  the  unity  of  na 
tional  thought — we  can,  now  more  than  ever,  say  the  unity  of  inter 
national  thought. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  approximation  of  science  and 
philosophy,  now  becoming  apparent,  is  the  result  of  deliberate 
agreement  on  both  sides,  arising  from  a  desire  to  come  to  terms. 
It  is  the  fruit  of  necessity  rather  than  of  actual  preference.  Science 
has  made  no  deliberate  attempt  to  remove  metaphysical  obstacles 
or  perplexities  out  of  the  way.  Quite  the  contrary.  Ignoring  meta 
physics  and  claiming  a  complete  independence  in  the  search  for 
scientific  truth,  it  has  travelled  along  its  own  path,  followed  its 
own  methods,  and  proclaimed  its  own  results.  But  in  doing  this  it 
has  worked  itself  into  metaphysics.  With  full  confidence  in  its  own 
methods,  it  proclaimed  that  science  could  do  nothing  but  deal  with 
facts,  and  a  rigidly  scientific  explanation  of  them.  In  this  way 
it  lent  indirect  countenance  to  agnosticism,  denying  the  possible 
knowledge  of  things  not  presented  as  facts  to  observation.  But  as 
the  result  of  this  legitimate,  because  logical,  result  of  a  stern  applica 
tion  of  its  own  methods,  it  found  itself  discussing  the  Unknowable, 
accepting  this  as  a  necessary  task  for  human  thought — and  in  doing 
so  it  has  become  metaphysical. 

One  point  more.  The  movement  of  scientific  thought  has  become 
not  only  connected  with,  but  involved  in,  a  theory  of  evolution. 
This  theory  proclaims  not  only  unity  of  system  in  the  structure 
of  all  organism,  but  unity  in  respect  of  actual  evolution  in  history. 
The  world  as  it  now  exists  is  held  to  be  the  product  of  the  ages. 


THE  PRESENT  POSITION  OF  PHILOSOPHY  IN  BRITAIN.       21 

In  this  line,  also,  science  has  been  working  toward  philosophic 
conclusions,  and  in  doing  so  has  been  unwittingly  working  out  a 
condemnation,  at  once,  of  pure  sensationalism  in  philosophy,  and  of 
the  sceptical  criticism  which  assailed  it.  The  former  it  has  done  by 
promulgating  a  distinct  scheme  of  expectation ;  and  the  second  by 
proclaiming  that  if  we  interpret  all  things  by  the  experience  of  ages 
gone  by  we  become  unscientific,  and  miss  the  grandeur  of  the  uni 
verse.  Hume's  argument  against  belief  in  miracles  was  based  on 
the  consideration  that  common  experience  is  against  them.  Science, 
which  has  no  place  for  miracles  in  the  whole  scope  of  its  thought, 
declares  that  the  evidence  of  each  generation  must  be  tested  on  its 
own  merits,  for  according  to  an  evolution  theory  every  new  genera 
tion  of  men  has  something  to  observe,  to  believe,  and  to  interpret, 
of  which  preceding  generations  could  have  had  no  experience. 

In  these  ways,  briefly  and  imperfectly  sketched,  science  and 
philosophy  have  been  gradually  approximating,  and  the  philosophy 
of  Britain  manifests  in  a  very  marked  degree  the  effect  of  this.  The 
true  position  of  philosophy  is  now  being  recognized,  as  the  continua 
tion  of  the  thought  which  science  has  commenced. 

While  science  has,  in  the  way  described,  been  working  up  toward 
the  advanced  lines  where  it  has  come  to  discuss  the  Unknowable, 
philosophy  has  been  busy  at  its  own  proper  work,  seeking  to  elabo 
rate  a  theory  of  knowing  which  should  conduct  to  a  theory  of  being. 
In  course  of  this,  it  has  been  constantly  affected  by  the  stage  of 
scientific  advance.  The  experiential  philosophy,  otherwise  named 
sensational,  which  builds  on  experience  alone,  and  will  not  allow  to 
intellect  anything  more  than  seeing  power,  through  the  avenues  of 
the  sensory,  has  naturally  connected  itself  with  the  evolution  theory, 
and  has  gained  largely  in  popularity  on  this  account.  Whether  this 
popularity  will  be  more  than  temporary  remains  to  be  seen.  I  am 
unable  to  regard  it  otherwise  than  as  a  passing,  though  prominent, 
feature  of  nineteenth-century  thought.  As  to  the  fact  of  present 
popularity,  more  especially  beyond  the  range  of  purely  philosophic 
circles,  there  can  be  no  doubt.  If  the  scientific  men  of  the  present 
day  were  asked  to  what  recognized  system  of  philosophy  they 
would  most  readily  turn,  they  would,  by  a  great  majority,  give  their 
preference  for  that  of  Herbert  Spencer.  Without  professing  to 
have  had  any  training  for  the  work  of  philosophic  criticism,  they 
feel  that  this  system  lies  nearest  to  them,  and  can  be  most  readily 
harmonized  with  their  thought ;  whereas,  a  transcendental  theory 


22        THE  PRESENT  POSITION  OF  PHILOSOPHY  IN  BRITAIN. 

is  hard  to  interpret,  if,  indeed,  it  has  any  meaning  really  applicable 
to  scientific  facts  and  theories.  What  they  recognize  is  that  Herbert 
Spencer  has  looked  with  intelligence  and  patience  into  the  records 
of  science,  and  has  constructed  his  philosophy  in  full  view  of  what 
science  has  worked  out.  But  this  popularity  is  a  mixed  thing, 
partly  scientific,  partly  philosophic ;  and,  if  these  be  distinguished, 
more  scientific  than  philosophic ;  having  a  large  concurrence  of 
opinion  in  its  favor  on  the  scientific  side,  with  a  seriously  divided 
opinion  amongst  those  devoted  to  philosophy. 

Taking  the  experiential  theory  on  its  own  merits,  and  apart  from 
the  external  support  now  indicated,  it  seems  in  recent  years  to  have 
lost  some  measure  of  the  hold  it  had  upon  the  public  mind.  I 
would  not  suggest  that  its  avowed  supporters  are  less  clear  in  their 
preference,  or  less  decided  in  their  determination  to  uphold  it.  But 
it  has  not  the  power  in  Britain  which  it  once  had.  It  cannot  claim 
the  popularity  it  had  in  the  best  days  of  John  Stuart  Mill ;  it  has 
not  made  good  the  promise  awakened  by  the  first  appearance  of 
Spencer's  Principles  of  Psychology.  And  this  will  seem  the  more 
striking,  when  we  consider  the  favorable  judgment  generally  ac 
corded  to  certain  portions  of  the  work  done.  There  is  undivided 
acknowledgment  of  the  service  rendered  by  Mill  in  his  clear  and 
full  exposition  of  inductive  reasoning;  and  there  is  admiration 
of  the  service  rendered  by  Spencer  and  other  representatives  of 
the  school,  in  the  field  of  empirical  psychology.  But  their  latest 
work  is  not  up  to  the  same  level ;  it  has  failed  to  stir  the  same 
springtide  of  enthusiasm.  The  ethical  division  of  their  philosophy 
is  not  distinguished  by  the  same  grasp  and  power  to  convince  ;  it 
does  not  seem  to  bear  witness  as  it  should  to  the  sufficiency  of 
the  basis  on  which  the  thought  is  made  to  rest.  Mill's  Utilitari 
anism  is  admired  as  formerly  for  the  clearness  of  its  style,  the  fine 
ness  of  feeling  which  pervades  it,  and  the  noble  aspirations  which  it 
awakens ;  but  its  logical  merit  is  not  equal  to  these  other  qualities. 
Again,  if  you  pass  to  Spencer,  The  Data  of  Ethics  is  not  to  be  com 
pared  with  The  First  Principles.  And,  if  we  take  the  finest  thinker 
on  the  utilitarian  side — I  mean  Sidgwick — he  expressly  asks  a  basis 
in  intuition,  in  order  that  a  beginning  may  be  made  with  an  ethical 
philosophy,  the  main  part  of  which  will  thereafter  be  an  exposition 
of  the  true  meaning  of  utility  as  a  rule  of  life,  in  view  of  the  shifting 
relations  arising  under  advancing  civilization.  These  are  the  main 
things  which  explain  loss  of  the  old  enthusiasm.  They  all  tend  to 


THE  PRESENT  POSITION  OF  PHILOSOPHY  IN  BRITAIN.       23 

favor  a  conviction  that  sensationalism  proves  insufficient  to  provide 
a  complete  philosophy.  The  theory  moves  with  freedom  in  the 
wide  field  of  physiological  observation ;  it  advances  without  loss 
of  energy  through  analysis  and  development  of  the  feelings  ;  but 
when  it  comes  to  the  higher  region  of  voluntary  determination,  in 
cluding  all  that  belongs  to  the  rational  life,  the  step  is  less  certain, 
and  the  destination  altogether  more  doubtful.  It  is  this  which  I 
think  the  public  mind  has  come  in  some  measure  to  recognize,  and 
which  accounts  for  the  fact  that  the  tide  of  thought  in  Great  Britain 
does  not  set  as  the  brighter  expectations  of  sensationalism  predicted 
it  would. 

Now  we  turn  upon  the  rational  or  transcendental  philosophy, 
thus  to  complete  our  view  of  the  historic  situation.  The  distinctive 
doctrine  here  may  be  expressed  in  the  formula,  the  Rational  is  the 
Real.  The  intellect  itself  must  supply  the  very  conditions  of 
knowledge,  in  accordance  with  which  it  becomes  possible  for  us  to 
attain  certainty.  In  order  to  know,  in  any  wide  and  large  sense,  we 
must  rationalize.  The  essential  requirements  for  a  true  philosophy 
of  knowing,  and  afterward  of  being,  are  to  be  found  in  the  critical 
study  of  the  conditions  and  movements  of  intelligence  itself.  And 
this  leads  into  a  most  intricate  and  elaborate  investigation  of  mental 
procedure.  On  this  line,  philosophy  seems  at  once  to  separate  itself 
from  science,  passing  off  into  an  invisible  region  into  which  science 
cannot  follow.  Accordingly,  the  transcendental  philosophy  has 
never  had,  and  never  can  have,  the  same  hold  on  the  scientific  mind 
that  is  readily  obtained  by  a  scheme  working  in  visible  relation  with 
science,  and  in  closer  harmony  with  it.  The  rational  philosophy 
does  not,  indeed,  separate  itself  from  the  study  of  the  avenues  of 
sense.  This  it  could  not  do,  for  it  must  find  the  data  concerning  ex 
ternal  existence  given  through  the  sensory.  But  it  is  not  attracted, 
arrested,  and  occupied  with  the  sensory,  as  the  sensational  school  is. 
The  attraction  for  the  rational  school  lies  in  the  opposite  direction, 
in  discovering  what  the  intellect  can  do,  and  on  what  conditions. 
But  it  is  impossible  to  deny  that  its  tendency  has  been  to  disparage 
the  sensory,  as  if  the  lower  power  were  almost  lost  in  the  higher 
power;  as  if  it  were  hardly  worth  while  lingering  over  the  testimony 
of  the  senses,  because  we  know  beforehand  that  the  secrets  of  phi 
losophy  are  to  be  found  deeper.  This  has  robbed  the  rational 
philosophy  of  a  considerable  amount  of  influence  which  the  rival 
scheme  has  enjoyed.  The  verdict  of  public  opinion  seems,  to  me, 


24         THE  PRESENT  POSITION  OF  PHILOSOPHY  IN  BRITAIN. 

correct  here,  for  the  rational  philosophy  is  weak  on  the  side  of  the 
sensory.  Its  lack  of  power  to  speak  to  the  scientific  mind  is  charge 
able  against  it  as  a  fault.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  able  to  claim  that 
science  is  so  far  from  being  at  variance  with  the  theory  which  pro 
claims  that  to  know  is  to  rationalize,  and  to  rationalize  is  to  know, 
that  all  science  is  an  explicit  declaration  of  this  maxim.  For  while 
science  has  made  its  beginning  in  observation,  it  has  really  con 
structed  system  out  of  the  heap  of  observations  only  by  rationaliz 
ing.  If,  however,  it  be  objected,  from  the  scientific  standpoint,  that 
the  transcendental  philosophy  is  too  intricate,  remote,  and  in  many 
of  its  aspects  abstract,  to  be  attractive  to  the  scientific  mind,  there  is 
but  one  answer :  Things  cannot  be  made  simpler  than  they  are.  It 
is  a  much  easier  thing  to  know,  than  to  construct  a  theory  of  know 
ing.  Here  no  attempt  can  be  successful  which  will  not  face  things 
remote  from  ordinary  experience  ;  the  intricacy  is  lying  within  the 
ordinary,  wrapped  up  in  the  marvels  of  our  own  intellectual  pro 
cedure.  Granting  the  loss  of  popularity  which  this  involves,  the 
rational  school  must  accept  the  inevitable,  as  science  itself  does  in 
order  that  it  may  be  truly  scientific.  For  science  proclaims  the  im 
possibility  of  popularizing  itself. 

The  recent  history  of  the  rational  school  in  .Britain  has  been 
peculiar,  and  not  quite  flattering  to  national  sentiment.  Reid  and 
Stewart  and  Hamilton,  the  great  names  of  our  early  Scottish  phi 
losophy,  when  it  faced  the  destructive  criticism  of  Hume,  have  been 
at  a  discount.  It  is  not  disputed  that  there  is  power  in  their  reason 
ing  and  truth  in  their  conclusions.  But  they  have  not  penetrated 
into  the  heart  of  the  problem,  as  the  German  thinkers  have  done. 
On  this  account  it  has  happened  that  British  thought  favorable  to 
the  rational  school  has  within  recent  years  been  stimulated  by  Kant 
and  Hegel  more  than  by  native  thinkers.  This  is  the  true  and 
honest,  as  well  as  admiring,  acknowledgment  that  the  critical 
philosophy,  in  its  root  distinction  between  a  priori  and  a  posteriori — 
between  what  is  given  by  the  mind  (also  given  to  the  mind)  and  what 
is  afterward  given  into  the  mind  by  experience — had  begun  a  new 
era.  The  consequence,  however,  has  been  that  the  thinkers  of  the 
rational  school  in  Britain  have,  for  a  considerable  time,  and  of  ne 
cessity,  been  expounders  of  Kant  or  Hegel.  Translations,  exposi 
tions,  and  criticisms  have  poured  from  the  press,  placing  German 
thought  in  English  form,  and  in  a  manner  suited  to  the  movements 
of  our  national  thought.  The  work  has  been  done  with  consummate 


THE  PRESENT  POSITION  OF  PHILOSOPHY  IN  BRITAIN.       2$ 

ability,  and  all  parts  of  the  kingdom  have  had  a  share  in  it.  Eng 
land  has  given  us  Bradley  and  Green  ;  Ireland,  Mahaffy  and  Abbott ; 
Scotland,  Semple,  Meiklejohn,  Hutcheson,  Stirling,  Edward  Caird, 
and  Wallace.  All  these  have  taken  part  directly  in  the  work  of 
translation,  or  of  exposition  and  criticism.  Kant  has  been  trans 
lated,  expounded,  criticised  ;  Hegel  has  had  his  "  secret  "  disclosed 
by  a  master  philosophic  mind  ;  and  Hegelian  thought  has  provided 
material  for  powerful  assault  on  the  critical  philosophy,  which  has, 
nevertheless,  wonderfully  kept  its  hold. 

The  work  described  has  given  to  Britain  evidence  of  ample  sup 
ply  of  native  philosophic  power.  But  expositions  and  criticisms 
belong  to  a  transition  period ;  in  consequence  of  the  necessary 
movement  of  our  intellectual  life,  such  a  period  soon  becomes  a 
thing  of  the  past.  So  it  is  already,  or  very  nearly  so,  in  Britain. 
The  rational  school  needs  to  make  a  new  advance,  and  we  have 
reason  to  expect  that  what  is  now  in  preparation  will  show  itself 
indigenous.  The  days  were — and  they  are  not  far  distant  yet — 
when  we  were  treated  to  doctrines  of  finality  in  philosophy ;  when 
we  were  gravely  assured  that  philosophy  ends  in  Hegel.  The  prog 
ress  of  the  ages  is  too  strong  for  such  a  thing — the  centuries  do  not 
cease  ;  intellect  does  not  work  a  treadmill ;  criticism  is  in  its  turn 
criticised,  giving  rise  to  a  reasonable  expectation  of  something 
new. 

That  we  are  on  the  eve  of  a  fresh  advance  there  appears  abun 
dant  evidence  to  show.  The  evidence  lying  nearest  us  is  the  felt  and 
recognized  insufficiency  of  the  best  that  the  rational  school  has 
done  in  recent  years.  Speaking  here  only  of  the  state  of  things  in 
Britain,  it  seems  to  me  clear  that  Hegelianism  has  reached  to  the 
height  of  its  influence,  and  has  passed  it.  On  British  soil,  in  recent 
years,  as  on  German  at  an  earlier  period,  the  struggle  has  been  be 
tween  Hegelianism  and  the  critical  philosophy.  "  The  Dialectic 
Movement  "  prepared  to  swallow  up  all  that  had  gone  before ;  but 
it  has  not  succeeded.  In  Britain  the  result  is  the  same  as  in  Ger 
many  ;  there  is  a  return  upon  Kant.  The  critical  philosophy  has 
its  "  secret,"  as  well  as  the  dialectic  philosophy  ;  and  we  want  both, 
and  something  more  besides,  for  we  are  far  from  being  at  the  end  of 
the  "  secrets."  This  is,  to  be  sure,  rank  heresy  in  the  ears  of  enthu 
siastic  Hegelians,  of  whom  we  have  a  goodly  gathering ;  but  prog 
ress  is  apt  to  be  heresy  for  the  stage  that  went  before,  and  that  is 
fading  in  the  rear. 


26       THE  PRESENT  POSITION  OF  PHILOSOPHY  IN  BRITAIN. 

We  are  not  breaking  with  the  past ;  we  are  only  reading  its  les 
sons,  and  seeking  free  scope  for  thought  as  we  try  to  interpret  them 
and  turn  them  to  account.  With  the  lights  of  the  criticism  over 
which  Hegelianism  has  made  its  boast  (and  not  without  good  reason, 
I  admit),  we  are  recognizing  the  defects  of  the  Kantian  philosophy ; 
and  in  the  ability  of  the  Kantian  theory  to  stand  the  shock,  we  are 
detecting  the  weakness  of  Hegelianism.  The  progress  of  thought  is 
through  the  wreck  of  systems.  The  inexperienced,  bewildered  by 
the  succession  of  theories,  grow  impatient,  and  call  this  "  see-saw  " 
— the  weary  swing  of  the  pendulum.  What  they  see  is  only  the  sur 
face.  A  living  force  is  working,  breaking  up  the  old  frames,  to 
find  new  and  larger  form  for  the  energy  belonging  to  it.  We  are 
encouraged  by  this,  not  alarmed.  We  are  only  confirmed  in  the 
much-needed  lesson,  that  to  know  is  easy,  but  to  work  our  way 
through  the  intricacies  of  a  theory  of  knowledge — to  know  ourselves 
— is  more  perplexing  than  to  construct  sciences.  This  is  what  is 
being  more  deeply  recognized  by  British  thought.  We  admire  the 
critical  distinction  which  Kant  has  drawn  between  a  priori  and  a  pos 
teriori — between  the  categories  of  the  understanding  and  the  facts 
of  experience ;  but,  in  harmony  with  the  scientific  spirit  of  the  age, 
while  we  believe  in  the  rational  we  believe  in  the  phenomenal,  and 
refuse  the  dogma  that  "  things-in-themselves  "  are  unknown.  Ad 
mitting  that  the  rational  is  the  real,  we  read  the  rational  into  the  phe 
nomenal,  and  through  the  phenomenal  into  the  existing.  If  we  do 
not  know  things,  but  only  sensations,  the  rational  philosophy  has 
become  sensational,  and  is  little  better  than  the  theory  it  repudiates ; 
"  our  knowledge  "  is  not  knowledge,  and  the  rational  is  not  the  real. 
Thus  advancing  beyond  the  Kantian  thought,  we  find  ourselves  in 
the  enclosures  of  the  Hegelian,  where  we  are  hearing  of  the  unity 
of  thought  and  being.  This  is  an  escape  from  Kant's  position  to  a 
vantage-ground  from  which  criticism  is  easy,  but  where  philosophy 
is  not  in  any  manifest  way  a  gainer.  Hume  was  not  answered  in 
the  earlier  way,  neither  is  he  in  the  later.  "  Things-in-themselves  " 
are  rescued  ;  but  "  minds-in-themselves  "  are  vanishing.  For  the 
logic  of  the  categories  we  have  to  thank  Hegel  with  unstinted 
praise  ;  but  philosophy  is  more  than  categories,  and  this  is  the  con 
viction  which  is  carrying  philosophic  thought  beyond  Hegel.  "  Know 
thyself "  means  much  more  than  to  decipher  the  dialectic  in  the 
movement  of  the  categories.  Thus,  as  I  venture  to  think,  the  prog 
ress  of  British  thought  will  bring  us  ere  long  to  the  rejection  of 


THE  PRESENT  POSITION  OF  PHILOSOPHY  IN  BRITAIN.       2/ 

both  schemes,  with  acceptance  from  both  of  large  philosopic  results 
as  a  permanent  addition  to  the  possessions  of  philosophy. 

How  it  happens  that  this  progress  in  thought  involves  a  return 
upon  Kant  will  appear  by  testing  the  rational  school  as  we  did  the 
sensational.  Judge  Kantianism  and  Hegelianism  by  the  theories 
of  human  life  advanced,  and  Kant  is  at  once  recognized  as  supe 
rior.  His  ethical  philosophy  is  the  crowning  feature  in  his  system, 
as  it  is  in  some  sense  a  rebuke  of  the  weakness  in  the  early  part 
of  it.  Whereas,  what  Hegel  has  to  say  concerning  the  evolution  of 
personality — and  it  is  admirably  said  within  the  forms  of  the  dialec 
tic — is  stinted  and  inadequate,  and  in  most  important  aspects  incon 
sistent  with  the  earlier  and  dominant  conception,  that  the  evolution 
of  thought  is  the  evolution  of  being — a  maxim  dialectically  good 
but  practically  weak. 

In  looking  back  in  this  way  on  the  work  of  recent  years  we  are 
contemplating  the  best  that  has  been  done,  and  we  are  assigning  to 
it  high  intellectual  merit.  But  we  find  in  the  survey  evidence  that 
the  thought  of  the  nation  is  in  a  transition  stage,  preparing  for  a 
new  advance  ;  and  when  this  comes,  it  promises  to  be  the  fruit  of  all 
that  is  best  in  German  and  British  thought ;  and  in  its  nature  a  fur 
ther  clear  advance  toward  a  philosophy  of  human  knowledge — a 
philosophy  of  certainty. 

HENRY  CALDERWOOD. 


RELIGION    IN   THE    PUBLIC    SCHOOLS. 

[This  article  was  the  last  ever  written  by  its  distinguished  author.  Its  solemn  warning 
and  earnest  plea  find  additional  emphasis  in  the  fact  that  while  uttered  in  full  health  and 
vigor,  as  the  deliberate  convictions  of  a  strong  mind  at  the  zenith  of  its  power,  they  are  yet 
a  dying  legacy.  The  reader  will  feel  at  once  what  a  promise  for  the  future,  what  a  proof 
of  vigorous  life,  these  pages  contain.  The  end  was  sudden.  Doctor  Hodge  died  in  the 
exhaustion  which  follows  great  suffering,  on  Thursday  the  nth  of  November  last,  toward 
midnight.  The  tidings  of  his  death  were  received  not  only  in  the  immediate  circle  of  his 
friends,  but  in  the  still  wider  circle  where  his  name  and  work  had  always  roused  the  keen 
est  interest — in  the  cities  of  the  Atlantic  sea-board,  wherever  there  were  members  of  the 
great  church  with  which  he  was  identified — with  a  sense  of  irreparable  loss  and  with  the 
shock  of  a  personal  and  public  bereavement.  The  general  sympathy  has  already  found  ex 
pression  in  the  newspapers  and  periodicals.  But  it  is  only  among  those  who  felt  his  im 
mediate  influence,  those  who  knew  him  in  the  common  round  of  every-day  life,  who  came 
under  his  charge  as  a  teacher  and  educator,  who  were  associated  with  him  in  the  perform 
ance  of  public  duties,  that  his  real  worth  can  be  felt  and  the  importance  of  his  loss  be 
estimated.  The  first  series  of  this  Review  was  conducted  by  his  famous  father,  and  reached 
under  him  the  position  from  which  in  the  last  generation  it  exercised  its  great  influence. 
Its  second  series  found  in  the  no  less  famous  son  a  valued  contributor  ;  and  this,  the  third, 
has  enjoyed  from  the  beginning  the  favor  and  counsel  as  well  as  the  substantial  assistance 
which  entitle  the  editor  to  express,  however  imperfectly,  his  feeling  of  deep  sorrow,  and 
to  explain  how  irreparable  is  the  loss  to  this  journal.] 

THERE  is  no  question  upon  which  there  prevails  more  confusion 
of  thought,  and,  consequently,  difference  of  opinion  among  those 
fundamentally  agreeing  in  principle,  than  that  of  the  relation  of  re 
ligion  to  the  education  furnished  by  our  public  schools.  It  is  agreed 
that  the  perpetuity  of  a  free  state  necessarily  requires  the  general 
education  of  the  people.  It  is  also  agreed  that  no  agency  can  so 
effectually  secure  this  necessary  end  as  a  school  system  supported 
by  public  taxation  and  controlled  by  the  state  herself.  But  if  the 
American  principle  of  the  absolute  divorce  of  church  and  state  be 
maintained,  how  can  the  state  have  any  definite  religious  character? 
and,  if  not,  how  can  it  administer  a  system  of  education  which  embraces 
a  religious  element  ?  Of  all  the  conflicting  systems  of  religion,  repre 
sented  in  the  national  population,  how  is  it  possible  for  the  state 
to  select  one  in  order  to  embrace  it  in  its  educational  system  ?  If 
Christianity  be  adopted  as  the  religion  of  the  majority,  shall  it  be  in 
its  Papal  or  in  its  Protestant  form  ?  How  can  it  ever  be  equitable 
to  take  the  money  of  even  a  small  minority  of  Jews  or  infidels  in 
order  to  disseminate  a  faith  which  they  abhor  ?  and,  especially,  how 


RELIGION  IN   THE  PUBLIC  SCHOOLS.  29 

can  it  be  endured  that  their  children  should  be  indoctrinated  with 
the  hated  creed  ? 

The  infinite  importance  of  this  problem  has  hitherto  failed  to 
be  appreciated  by  the  mass  of  our  Christian  people,  because  the 
inevitable  tendencies  of  our  present  system  of  public  schools  have 
been  disguised  during  the  period  of  imperfect  development.  In  the 
East  these  schools  have  been  kept  under  local  control,  in  decidedly 
Christian  communities  of  fixed  traditions,  and  they  have  been  sup 
plemented  and  restrained  by  numerous  Christian  academies  and  col 
leges.  But  a  very  wide,  profound,  and  silent  change  has  been  rapidly 
effected.  The  system  has  been  developed  in  the  newer  states  from 
the  common  school  to  the  state  university.  In  the  East  the  system 
has  been  gradually  centralized,  and  local  schools  have  been  conformed 
to  the  common  rule  of  the  State  Boards  of  Control.  Congress  has 
been  asked  to  assume  the  reins  by  the  appropriation  of  millions  for 
the  supply  of  schools  throughout  the  Southern  States  and  the  Ter 
ritories,  and  by  the  erection  of  a  National  University.  The  entire 
literature  provided  has  been  laboriously  purged  from  every  theistic 
or  Christian  reference.  The  school  Readers  of  former  times,  as  the 
Columbian  Orator,  published  in  Boston  in  1797,  the  New  English 
Reader,  published  in  1841,  and  the  McGuffey  Readers,  so  universally 
used  in  Ohio  a  generation  ago,  were  full  of  extracts  from  the  best 
Christian  classics.  These  have  been  everywhere  superseded  by 
Readers  embracing  only  secular,  non-religious  matter.  Doctor 
Guyot's  Series  of  Geographies,  the  best  in  the  market,  was  rejected 
by  the  School  Board  of  Chicago,  after  a  year's  trial,  because  they 
recognized  the  existence  of  God.  A  Christian  college  president  said 
to  Rev.  H.  D.  Jenkins,  D.D. : 

"That  is  my  Political  Economy,  prepared  for  use  in  high-schools  and  acade 
mies.  I  sent  it  the  other  day  to  one  of  our  State  Superintendents  of  Education  ; 
but  it  was  returned  to  me  with  the  note  that  its  first  sentence  condemned  it  for 
use  in  public  schools." 

That  first  sentence  was  :  "  The  source  of  all  wealth  is  the  beneficence 
of  God."  For  the  first  time  in  the  world's  history  a  complete 
literature  is  being  generated  from  which  all  tincture  of  religion, 
whether  natural  or  revealed,  is  expurgated,  for  the  education  of  the 
youth  of  a  whole  nation.*  "  Non-denominational  "  used  to  mean 

*  Ex-President  Theodore  Woolsey,  in  his  great  work  on  Political  Science,  Vol.  II., 
p.  414,  asks  urgently  :  "  Shall  it  come  to  this,  that  not  even  the  existence  of  the  Supreme 
One  is  to  be  assumed  in  the  schools,  nor  any  book  introduced  which  expresses  any  definite 


30  RELIGION  IN   THE  PUBLIC  SCHOOLS. 

that  which  does  not  discriminate  between  the  various  Christian  sects. 
Now  it  means  that  which  does  not  discriminate  between  the  sects 
of  theists  and  atheists,  of  Christianity  and  of  unbelief.  A  "  non- 
denominationaj  "  college  is  a  non-religious  college. 

Under  these  problems,  therefore,  there  lurks  the  most  tremendous 
and  most  imminent  danger  to  which  the  interests  of  our  people  will 
ever  be  exposed,  in  comparison  with  which  the  issues  of  slavery  and  of 
intemperance  shrink  into  insignificance.  We  feel  sure,  moreover,  that 
although  an  absolute  solution  of  these  questions  may  be  very  diffi 
cult,  that  a  comparatively  just  and  safe  practical  adjustment  is  clearly 
within  the  grasp  of  our  Christian  people,  if  they  clear  their  minds  and 
use  their  power. 

I.  It  is  absolutely  impossible  to  separate  religious  ideas  from  the 
great  mass  of  human  knowledge. .  In  many  connections,  where  these 
are  not  positively  implied  they  are  virtually  denied.  By  "  religion  " 
we  connote  two  related  ideas  :  (i)  natural  theism  ;  (2)  Christianity  as 
a  supernatural  revelation,  whose  organ  and  standard  is  the  Bible.  In 
affirming  the  absolute  impossibility  of  separating  religious  ideas  from 
the  instruction  given  in  our  public  schools,  we  do  not  mean  that  it  is 
the  proper  function  of  any  of  them  to  teach  a  complete  system  of 
Christian  doctrine  or  duties.  It  is  only  meant  that  they  cannot  suc 
cessfully  ignore  that  religious  element  which  enters  into  the  essential 
nature  of  the  subject-matter  of  their  teaching. 

First. — This  is  proved  from  the  very  nature  of  the  case.  Educa 
tion  involves  the  training  of  the  whole  man  and  of  all  the  faculties,  of 
the  conscience  and  of  the  affections,  as  well  as  of  the  intellect.  The 
English  language  is  the  product  of  the  thought,  character,  and  life 
of  an  intensely  Christian  people  for  many  centuries.  A  purely  non- 
theistic  treatment  of  that  vocabulary  would  not  merely  falsify  the 
truth  of  the  subject,  but  would  necessarily  make  it  an  instrument  of 
conveying  positively  antitheistic  and  antichristian  ideas.  All  his 
tory  is  a  product  of  divine  Providence,  and  is  instinct  with  the 
divine  ends  and  order.  This  is  especially  true  of  the  history  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon  race,  which  is  a  record  of  the  conflict  of  religious  ideas 
and  forces  from  the  first.  It  is  self-evident  that  a  non-theistic  or  a 
non-christian  treatment  of  that  history  would  be  utterly  superficial 

faith  in  regard  to  Providence  or  final  causes  ?  "  And  it  has  long  since  come  to  this  that 
a  minister  of  the  Gospel  has  justified  the  state,  insomuch  as  he  affirms  it  "  proposes  to  give 
only  a  secular  education,  that  would  be  useful  and  needful  in  this  life,  if  there  were  no 
God,  and  no  future  for  the  human  soul."— Religion  and  the  State.  Rev.  Dr.  Spear,  pp.  52,  53. 


RELIGION  IN   THE  PUBLIC  SCHOOLS.  3 1 

and  misrepresenting.  It  cannot  be  questioned  that  morals  rest  upon 
a  religious  basis,  and  that  a  non-theistic  ethics  is  equivalent  to  a 
positively  antitheistic  one.  The  same  is  no  less  true  of  science  in 
all  its  departments.  It  ultimately  rests  upon  the  ground  that  the 
universe  is  a  manifestation  of  reason.  If  God  is  not  therein  recog 
nized  he  is  denied,  and  a  non-theistic  science  has  always  been  and 
will  always  be  a  positively  atheistic  and  materialistic  one.  The 
universe  can  be  interpreted  only  in  terms  of  mind  or  of  molecular 
mechanics.  Wm.  T.  Harris  well  says,  in  the  Journal  of  Social  Science, 
May,  1884,  P-  13°: 

"  Faith  is  a  secular  virtue  as  well  as  a  theological  virtue,  and  whosoever  teaches 
another  view  of  the  world — that  is  to  say,  he  who  teaches  that  a  man  is  not  im 
mortal,  and  that  nature  does  not  reveal  the  divine  reason — teaches  a  doctrine  sub 
versive  of  faith  in  this  peculiar  sense,  and  also  subversive  of  man's  life  in  all  that 
makes  it  worth  living." 

It  is  obvious  that  the  infinite  evils  resulting  from  the  proposed 
perversion  of  the  great  educating  agency  of  the  country  cannot  be 
corrected  by  the  supplementary  agencies  of  the  Christian  home,  the 
Sabbath-school,  or  the  church.  This  follows  not  only  because  the 
activities  of  the  public  school  are  universal  and  that  of  all  the  other 
agencies  partial,  but  chiefly  because  the  Sabbath-school  and  church 
cannot  teach  history  or  science,  and  therefore  cannot  rectify  the  anti- 
christian  history  and  science  taught  by  the  public  schools.  And  if 
they  could,  a  Christian  history  and  science  on  the  one  hand  cannot 
coalesce  with  and  counteract  an  atheistic  history  and  science  on  the 
other.  Poison  and  its  antidote  together  never  constitute  nutritious 
food.  And  it  is  simply  madness  to  attempt  the  universal  distribution 
of  poison  on  the  ground  that  other  parties  are  endeavoring  to  furnish 
a  partial  distribution  of  an  imperfect  antidote. 

It  is  greatly  to  be  regretted  that  this  tremendous  question  has 
been  obscured  and  belittled  by  being  identified  with  the  entirely 
subordinate  matter  of  reading  short  portions  of  the  King  James  ver 
sion  of  the  Bible  in  the  public  schools.  Another  principal  occasion 
of  confusion  on  this  subject  is  the  unavoidable  mutual  prejudice  and 
misunderstanding  that  prevails  between  the  two  great  divisions  of 
our  Christian  population,  the  Romanist  and  the  Protestant.  The 
protest  against  the  reading  of  the  Protestant  version  of  Scripture 
came  in  the  first  instance  from  the  Romanists.  Hence,  in  the  triangu 
lar  conflict  which  ensued,  between  Protestants,  Romanists,  and  in 
fidels,  many  intelligent  Christians,  on  both  sides,  mistook  the  stress 


32  RELIGION  IN   THE  PUBLIC  SCHOOLS. 

of  battle.  Every  intelligent  Catholic  ought  to  know  by  this  time 
that  all  the  evangelical  churches  are  fundamentally  at  one  with  him 
in  essential  Christian  doctrine.  And  every  intelligent  Protestant 
ought  to  know  by  this  time,  in  the  light  of  the  terrible  socialistic 
revolutions  which  are  threatened,  that  the  danger  to  our  country  in 
this  age  is  infinitely  more  from  scepticism  than  from  superstition.  We 
have,  Protestant  and  Romanist  alike,  a  common  essential  Christianity, 
abundantly  sufficient  for  the  purposes  of  the  public  schools,  and 
all  that  remains  for  specific  indoctrinization  may  easily  be  left  to  the 
Sabbath-schools  and  the  churches  respectively.  We  are  in  the  same 
sense  Christian  theists.  We  believe  in  God  the  Father,  Son,  and 
Holy  Ghost,  in  His  fatherly  providence  and  love.  We  believe  in 
the  same  divine-human  Saviour,  and  place  alike  all  our  hope  of  salva 
tion  on  His  office  and  work  as  Mediator.  We  believe  in  the  infalli 
bility  and  authority  of  the  inspired  Word  of  God,  and  we  nearly 
approximate  agreement  on  all  questions  touching  the  Sabbath,  the 
oath,  the  rights  of  property,  marriage  and  divorce,  etc.,  and  with  re 
gard  to  the  religious  elements  of  science,  physical  and  moral,  and 
on  all  questions  in  which  the  state,  or  the  schools  of  the  state, 
have  jurisdiction.  Let  us  mutually  agree,  as  citizens,  not  as  ecclesi 
astics,  upon  a  large,  fair,  common  basis  of  religious  faith,  for  the  com 
mon  needs  of  the  state  and  her  schools,  leaving  all  differences  to  the 
churches,  and,  thus  united,  we  will  carry  the  country  before  us. 

The  testimony  of  the  Rev.  H.  D.  Jenkins,  D.D.,  a  Presbyterian 
minister,  in  the  Christian  at  Work,  August  19,  1886,  seems  to  show 
that  our  Romanist  brethren  are  nearer  this  infinitely-to-be-desired 
position  than  are  most  of  us  Protestants,  who  are  so  divided  that 
common  understanding  and  action  is  in  our  case  more  difficult. 
Doctor  Jenkins  says : 

"  Permit  me  to  say  that  I  have  never  in  my  life  examined  a  series  of  school-books 
with  more  minute  scrutiny  than  I  have  given  to  this  set,  and  I  have  no  hesitation  in 
saying  that  they  are  truer  to  the  ideal  of  our  fathers  "  [the  Puritans]  "than  any  set 
of  books  I  know  to  be  in  use  in  the  state  schools  of  America.  There  is  a  higher  lite 
rary  excellence  to  be  found  in  their  Readers  than  is  to  be  found  in  those  used  in 
our  public  schools ;  than  it  is  possible  to  find,  when  from  our  literature  the  ethical 
and  religious  element  is  so  carefully  weeded  out.  And  apart  from  one  or  two  dog 
matic  books,  which  are  used  as  text-books — notably  their  Catechism — there  is  not  a 
page  in  the  whole  didactic  series  which  I  could  not  freely  put  into  the  hands  of  my 
own  children,  or  give  to  the  children  of  my  Sunday-school.  Not  only  are  they 
largely  composed  of  extracts  from  our  best  evangelical  writers,  but  Protestant 
and  Romanist  appear  in  their  pages  with  equal  impartiality.  Their  Readers  pre 
sent  a  truer  and  juster  view  of  the  state  of  literature  in  America  to-day  than  can 


RELIGION  IN   THE  PUBLIC  SCHOOLS.  33 

be  gotten  from  the  books  in  use  in  the  public  schools.  Their  History  of  the  United 
States,  not  seeking  to  ignore  all  those  spiritual  factors  which  gave  shape  and  power 
to  the  past,  is  a  far  more  complete  exhibition  of  the  formative  elements  in  the  national 
life  than  that  taught  under  the  patronage  of  the  State.  Throughout  the  entire 
series  there  is  not  taught  one  single  doctrine  distinctive  of  Romanism,  or  hostile  to 
evangelical  truth;  not  one  reference  to  the  mother  of  Jesus  in  any  terms  that  would 
sound  strange  in  a  Protestant  pulpit ;  not  one  allusion  to  the  invocation  of  the  saints  ; 
not  one  hint  of  the  existence  of  purgatory,  and  not  one  suggestion  of  salvation  by 
any  other  means  but  by  simple  trust  in  Jesus,  the  Saviour  of  men." 

In  view  of  the  entire  situation,  shall  we  not  all  of  us  who  really 
believe  in  God  give  thanks  to  Him,  that  He  has  preserved  "  the 
Roman  Catholic  Church  in  America  to-day  true  to  that  theory  of 
education  upon  which  our  fathers  founded  the  public  schools  of  the 
nation,"  and  from  which  they  have  been  so  madly  perverted. 

Second. — The  proposed  attempt  at  erecting  a  complete  national 
system  of  public  schools,  from  whose  instruction,  in  all  grades,  all 
positive  religious  elements  are  to  be  expurgated,  is  absolutely  with 
out  precedent  in  the  hist9ry  of  the  human  race.  The  schools  of 
China  have  always  been  penetrated  with  the  religion  of  China,  such 
as  it  is.  The  schools  of  Europe  of  every  grade,  Protestant  as  well 
as  Romanist,  have,  from  the  time  of  Charlemagne,  been  the  children 
of  Christianity.  The  schools  of  Germany,  hitherto  the  most  efficient 
in  the  world,  provide  even  for  the  teaching  the  whole  outline  of 
dogmatic  Christianity.  The  schools  of  revolutionary  Paris  alone 
emulate  the  agnostic  profession  and  practice  of  our  own  system. 

Third. — This  new  principle  of  the  absolute  elimination  of  the 
theistic  and  Christian  elements  from  the  instructions  of  our  com 
mon  schools  is  in  direct  opposition  to  the  spirit  and  declared  con 
victions  of  their  founders.  At  the  first,  the  population  of  New 
England  was  religiously  homogeneous.  The  conflict  has  been  pre 
cipitated  by  the  unfortunate  misunderstandings  of  Protestant  and 
Romanist  Christians,  and  by  the  utterly  unwarrantable  claims  of  a 
relatively  small  but  aggressive  party  of  recently  imported  foreign 
infidels.  For  two  hundred  years  after  the  first  colonization  of 
the  country  every  college  and  almost  every  academy  and  high- 
school  was  erected  with  Christian  ends  in  view.  Massachusetts 
established  Harvard  College  in  1636.  The  president  and  each  pro 
fessor  was  obliged  to  profess  "  his  belief  in  the  Scriptures  of  the  Old 
and  New  Testaments,"  "  and  in  every  year  and  every  week  of  the 
college  course,  every  class  was  practised  in  the  Bible  and  catecheti 
cal  divinity."  Yale  College  was  founded  in  1701.  The  charter  de- 
3 


34  RELIGION  IN   THE  PUBLIC  SCHOOLS. 

fined  its  end  to  be  the  propagating  the  Christian  Protestant  religion. 
The  Assembly's  catechism,  in  Greek,  was  read  by  the  freshmen  ;  the 
sophomores  studied  Hebrew  ;  the  juniors  and  sophomores  and  the 
seniors,  both  at  Harvard  and  Yale,  were  thoroughly  instructed  in 
divinity  in  the  admirable  compend  of  Wollebius. 

Horace  Mann  was  Secretary  of  the  Board  of  Education  of  Mas 
sachusetts  eleven  years,  from  1837  to  1848.  He  was,  more  than 
any  other  man,  the  author,  expositor,  and  eloquent  defender  of  the 
system.  He  may  well  be  called  the  Father  of  the  American  Com 
mon-school  system,  and  is  able  to  speak  of  its  original  character  and 
intention  as  an  unquestionable  authority.  The  changes  he  made,  in 
order  to  render  the  schools  of  that  state  more  homogeneous,  and 
available  for  all  classes  of  the  people,  necessarily  drove  many  of  the 
old  grammar-schools  and  academies  out  of  the  field,  and  excluded 
the  teaching  of  the  peculiar  dogmas  of  any  particular  Christian  de 
nomination.  This  inevitably  excited  anxiety  as  to  the  spirit  and 
ultimate  bearing  of  the  system  on  the  essentials  of  religion  held  in 
common  by  the  great  majority  of  the  people.  In  order  to  remove 
all  apprehension  on  this  score  he  expressed  his  views  and  those  of 
his  associates  frequently,  and  in  the  most  emphatic  manner,  in  his 
annual  reports.  He  says : 

"  Such  is  the  force  of  the  conviction  to  which  my  own  mind  is  brought  by  these 
general  considerations,  that  I  could  not  avoid  regarding  the  man  who  should 
oppose  the  religious  education  of  the  young  as  an  insane  man  ;  and  were  it  pro 
posed  to  debate  the  question  between  us,  I  should  desire  to  restore  him  to  his 
reason  before  entering  upon  the  discussion." — Reports,  pp.  710-715,  "On  Religious 
Education." 

He  did  not  depend  for  this  religious  instruction  upon  any  agen 
cies  exterior  to  his  own  schools.  The  education  he  proposed  to 
give  the  whole  people  in  his  schools  he  defines  as  "  a  training  of  the 
whole  man."— Pp.  573-575.  "  I  wish  to  vindicate  the  system  with 
which  I  have  been  so  long  and  so  intimately  connected,  not  only 
from  the  aspersion,  but  from  the  suspicion,  of  being  an  irreligious, 
or  antichristian,  or  un-Christian  system." — P.  717.  "  But  our  system 
earnestly  inculcates  all  Christian  morals  ;  it  founds  its  morals  on 
a  basis  of  religion ;  it  welcomes  the  religion  of  the  Bible,  and  in 
receiving  it  allows  it  to  do  what  it  is  allowed  to  do  in  no  other  sys 
tem—to  speak  for  itself."— Pp.  729-730.  "  The  Bible  is  received, 
therefore  it  is  not  un-Christian." — P.  735.  "  Further,  our  law  ex- 
plicitly  enjoins  morality,  therefore,  it  cannot  be  un-Christian."— P. 


RELIGION  IN   THE  PUBLIC  SCHOOLS.  35 

736.  "  Our  system  explicitly  calls  upon  the  "  resident  ministers  of 
the  Gospel  to  cooperate." — P.  737. 

II.  This  is  a  Christian  country,  in  the  sense  that  Christianity  is 
an  original  and  essential  element  of  the  law  of  the  land. 

First. — This  easily  demonstrated  position  does  not,  even  the  most 
remotely,  tend  to  invalidate  our  cherished  American  principle  of 
the  absolute  separation  of  church  and  state.  Christianity  is  a  super 
natural  revelation  of  God,  recorded  in  the  Bible.  It  is  not  an  eccle 
siastical  organization,  nor  essentially  dependent  upon  one.  Churches 
and  church  officers  of  every  kind  are  never  lords  over  the  con 
sciences  of  men,  neither  have  they  any  authority  within  the  sphere 
of  the  state,  but  they  are  simple  agencies  used  by  God  at  His  dis 
cretion  for  the  dissemination  of  the  Gospel  among  men.  The  state 
and  the  church  are  both  divine  institutions,  having  different  ends, 
spheres,  laws,  methods,  and  agents,  and  the  officers  and  the  laws  of 
neither  have  any  jurisdiction  within  the  sphere  of  the  other.  They 
are,  nevertheless,  both  equally  divine  institutions,  and  the  mem 
bers  and  officers  of  each  are  alike  subject  to  God,  and  bound  to 
obey  every  word  He  directs  to  either  one  of  them  in  their  appro 
priate  sphere.  It  is  Christianity,  or  God's  revelation  to  men  in  the 
Scriptures,  and  not  any  external  society  or  agency,  which  is  de 
clared  to  be  an  essential  element  of  the  law  of  this  land. 

Second. — By  this  assertion  it  is  not  meant  that  the  state  is 
directly  or  indirectly  committed  to  any  ecclesiastical  creeds  or  con 
fessions,  or  to  any  interpretation  of  the  contents  of  Scripture  as  to 
matters  of  either  faith  or  practice,  presented  by  the  church  or  her 
representative.  The  state  must  interpret  the  lessons  of  Scripture 
for  herself,  as  far  as  these  bear  upon  her  peculiar  duties,  just  as  the 
church  must  interpret  them  for  herself  and  within  her  own  sphere. 
The  Christianity  affirmed  to  be  an  essential  element  of  the  law  of 
this  land  is  not  the  Christianity  of  any  one  class  of  the  Christian 
population,  but  the  Christianity  which  is  inherited  and  held  in  com 
mon  by  all  classes  of  our  Christian  people. 

This  principle  is  expressed  very  plainly  in  a  decision  of  the  Su 
preme  Court  of  Pennsylvania  in  the  year  1824 : 

"Christianity,  general  Christianity,  is,  and  always  has  been,  a  part  of  the  com 
mon  law  of  Pennsylvania  ;  not  Christianity  founded  on  particular  religious  tenets  ; 
not  Christianity  with  an  established  church,  and  tithes,  and  spiritual  courts  ;  but 
Christianity  with  liberty  of  conscience  to  all  men."* 

*  Sergeant  and  Rowles'  Reports,  p.  394. 


36  RELIGION  IN   THE  PUBLIC  SCHOOLS, 

Chief-Justice  Kent,  in  a  decision  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  New 
York,  in  1811,  says: 

"  Christianity,  in  its  enlarged  sense,  as  a  religion  revealed  and  taught  in  the 
Bible,  is  not  unknown  to  our  law." 

Third. — Nor,  in  the  third  place,  does  this  affirmation  that  essen 
tial  Christianity  is  an  element  of  the  law  of  our  land  mean  that  the 
civil  government  is  bound  either  directly  or  indirectly  to  provide  for 
the  preaching  of  the  Gospel,  or  for  the  doing  anything  else  in  that 
interest  which  falls  within  the  sphere  of  the  church.  Whatsoever 
belongs  to  the  church  for  that  very  reason  does  not  belong  to  the 
state.  But  it  simply  means  that  Christianity,  as  a  revelation,  binds 
all  Christian  men  to  obedience  in  every  relation  and  department  of 
duty  upon  which  that  revelation  reflects  the  will  of  God.  The  state 
should  obey  God  in  carrying  out  within  its  own  sphere  the  will  of 
God,  however  made  known.  God  has  revealed  to  all  men  much  of 
His  will,  through  the  natural  law  written  upon  the  heart.  No  re 
spectable  publicist  pretends  that  this  natural  revelation  of  God's 
will  shall  be  discarded  by  the  state,  or  that  the  civil  law  must  ig 
nore  moral  distinctions  because  a  class  of  our  free  citizens  repudiate 
them.  And  God  has  also  been  pleased  to  make,  through  the  Chris 
tian  Scriptures,  a  special  supernatural  revelation  of  His  will  to  all 
men,  touching  several  matters  which  necessarily  fall  within  the 
sphere  of  the  Civil  law.  These  are  such  as  the  observance  of  a  day 
'  of  rest  from  the  business  of  the  world,  the  oath,  the  right  of  prop 
erty,  capital  punishment  for  murder,  marriage  and  divorce.  Hence 
also,  when  the  state,  for  her  own  defence,  assumes  the  function  of 
providing  for  the  education  of  the  rising  generation  of  the  whole 
people,  the  Christian  character  of  the  state  requires  that,  as  far  as 
she  teaches  those  branches  of  knowledge  of  which  Christian  theism 
is  an  inseparable  element,  as,  e.  g.,  history,  ethics,  philosophy, 
science,  she  should  include  that  element  in  her  teaching  also. 

The  evidence  of  this  proposition  thus  limited  and  explained  is 
threefold  :  (i)  The  a  priori  necessity  of  the  case.  (2)  The  historic 
genesis  of  our  common  law  and  political  institutions.  (3)  The 
present  actual  facts  of  the  case. 

1st. — Every  state  must  possess,  in  the  whole  range  of  its  act 
ivities  as  a  state,  precisely  the  intellectual,  moral,  and  religious  cha 
racter  of  the  governing  majority  of  its  citizens.  The  state  is  no 
thing  else  than  the  people,  constitutionally  organized,  acting  in  their 


RELIGION  IN   THE  PUBLIC  SCHOOLS.  37 

organic  capacity  through  the  machinery  of  law.  If  the  people  are 
morally  righteous  their  action  upon  all  questions  possessing  a  moral 
character  must  be  righteous.  If  the  governing  majority  of  the  people 
believe  in  God  as  the  Creator  and  moral  Governor,  and  in  the  authority 
of  the  Bible  as  His  Word,  then  organic  action  must  express  personal 
belief,  and  in  all  cases  conform  to  the  will  of  God,  whether  revealed 
in  the  light  of  nature  or  in  the  text  of  Scripture,  as  the  majority 
understands  them.  If  the  citizen  disbelieves  in  God  and  His  Word, 
he  does  not  believe  in  them  at  any  time  or  in  any  relation,  but  if  he 
does  really  believe  in  them,  then  he  must  act  in  conformity  to  them 
at  all  times  and  in  all  relations.  It  is  simply  absurd  to  say  that  a 
single  believer  must  individually  obey  every  indication  of  God's  will, 
and  that  a  multitude  of  believers  collectively  may,  if  they  please,  shut 
their  eyes  and  ignore  his  voice.  It  is  purely  absurd  to  say  that  a 
believing  man,  on  Sunday,  must  recognize  and  obey  the  voice  of 
Christ  speaking  in  his  Word,  and  directing  belief  and  action  in  the 
sphere  of  the  church,  and  that  the  same  believer,  on  Monday,  sitting 
in  a  State  or  the  national  legislature,  may  disregard  the  same  voice 
explicitly  commanding  his  obedience  in  matters  coming  within  his 
control  as  a  legislator ;  as,  e.  g.,  marriage  and  divorce,  the  Sabbath, 
or  education.  The  thing  is  simply  impossible.  If  attempted  and 
pretended  it  is  monstrous  treason.  Neutrality  is  absolutely  impos 
sible.  If  we  are  not  for  the  King  we  are  against  him.  If  we  do  not 
acknowledge  we  deny  him,  if  we  do  not  obey  we  rebel.  If  the  state 
acts  under  the  light  of  nature,  and  without  the  light  of  supernatural 
revelation,  it  is  certainly  non-Christian,  but  it  will  be  either  theistic  or 
atheistic.  But  if  it  act  under  the  clear  light  of  the  Bible  in  the  hands 
of  all  the  people,  it  must  be  either  Christian  or  <z«^-Christian. ' 

This  has  always  been  believed  hitherto.  All  nations  of  all  past 
ages  have  confessedly  founded  their  states  upon  their  religions.  This 
is  true  of  Egypt,  Greece,  and  Rome,  of  China,  Japan,  and  all  else 
within  the  purview  of  history.  The  precedents  of  the  few  short-lived 
atheistic  states  of  history  are  alike  exceptional  and  appalling. 

This  principle  is  recognized  by  the  greatest  writers  on  law  in  our 
language.  Blackstone,  Introduction,  §  2,  says  : 

"  Upon  these  two  foundations,  the  law  of  nature  (dictated  by  God  himself)  and 
the  law  of  revelation,  depend  all  human  laws  ;  that  is  to  say,  no  human  law  should 
be  suffered  to  contradict  these." 

And  Washington,  in  his  Farewell  Address,  that  legacy  of  political 
wisdom  from  the  Father  of  his  Country,  says  : 


38  RELIGION  IN  THE  PUBLIC  SCHOOLS. 

"  Reason  and  experience  both  forbid  us  to  expect  that  national  morality  can 
prevail  in  exclusion  of  religious  principles." 

Every  Christian,  at  least,  must  accept  this  political  axiom.  The 
Scripture,  which  he  acknowledges  to  be  the  Word  of  God,  fully 
commits  him  to  this  conclusion.  Jehovah  weighs  nations  as  well  as 
individuals  in  his  balances.  He  estimates  them  as  righteous  or  un 
righteous,  as  godly  or  ungodly.  These  are  characteristic  Scriptural 
predicates  of  nations.  It  is  predicted  that  all  "  nations  "  shall  serve 
Christ,  and  that  "  nation  "  is  declared  to  be  blessed  whose  God  is  the 
Lord.*  The  kings  of  the  earth,  as  public  magistrates,  in  whom  the 
character  of  the  state  is  embodied,  are  declared  to  be  immediately 
accountable  to  God  for  their  stewardship.  Christ  is  "  Prince  of  the 
kings  of  the  earth."f  "  The  powers  that  be  are  ordained  of  God." 
"Rulers  are  the  ministers  of  God  to  us  for  good."  "Whosoever 
resisteth  the  power  resisteth  the  ordinance  of  God."  "  Wherefore,  ye 
must  needs  be  subject  not  only  for  wrath,  but  also  for  conscience' 
sake."^:  This  is,  moreover,  the  essential  basis  of  all  liberty  for  the 
individual,  in  an  organized  state.  The  law  must  be  obeyed,  either 
from  physical  constraint  or  willingly.  Where  obedience  is  irksome, 
or  apparently  to  my  disadvantage,  I  obey  either  in  deference  to  the 
will  of  God,  or  to  the  physical  force  inherent  in  the  majority. 
Obedience  cannot  be  ethical  unless  it  be  religious,  and  it  cannot 
be  free  unless  it  be  ethical. 

2d. — The  principle  for  which  we  contend  is  demonstrated  by 
all  the  facts  relating  to  the  historical  genesis  of  our  institutions.  All 
organisms,  political  as  well  as  physical,  are  generated  by  lengthened 
processes  out  of  germs,  and  the  character  of  the  germ  always  passes 
over  into  the  resultant  organism.  The  elements  subsequently  intro 
duced  are  digested  and  assimilated  by  the  preexisting  constitution 
to  its  own  nature,  they  never  assimilate  the  preexistent  constitution 
to  their  nature.  This  is  not  a  poor  metaphor,  based  upon  a  superficial 
analogy  between  political  societies  and  physical  organisms.  It  is 
the  definitely  ascertained  law  of  the  growth  of  the  one  as  well  as  of 
the  other.  It  is  at  once  a  law  of  necessary  sequence,  and  at  the  same 
time  of  most  equal  justice  to  all  the  parties  concerned.  It  is  only 
justice  if  recent  immigrants,  who  voluntarily  and  for  their  own 
advantage  enter  into  partnership  with  us  in  our  paternal  heritage, 

*  Jer.  xxvii.  7 :  Prov.  xiv.  34  ;  Ps.  xxxiii.  12  ;  xliii.  I. 
t  Is.  xxiv.  21  ;  lx.  10  ;  Rev.  i.  5. 
\  Rom.  xiii.  1-5. 


RELIGION  IN   THE  PUBLIC  SCHOOLS.  39 

should  conform  to  all  its  long-established  conditions.  It  is  infamously 
unjust  if  the  recent  immigrant,  immediately  upon  his  advent,  should 
demand  the  revolution  of  our  established  political  principles  in  con 
formity  with  his  untested  speculations,  while  he  ignores  our  history, 
and  the  rights  of  the  majority  who  differ  from  him. 

Every  colony  going  out  from  an  historical  community  in  order  to 
found  new  states  in  unoccupied  territories  necessarily  carries  with 
it  an  inheritance  of  laws  and  customs  which  constitute  the  germs  of 
the  new  commonwealth.  These  lie  latent  (a)  in  the  characters  of 
the  persons  emigrating ;  (#)  in  their  inherited  social  relations  ;  (c)  in 
their  inherited  legal  customs,  the  lex  non  scripta,  or  common  law ; 
and  (d)  in  the  charters  of  their  kings,  or  chief  magistrates.  The 
colonies,  which  by  continuous  political  evolution  generated  the 
United  States  of  America,  were  from  the  first  constituted  almost 
exclusively  of  earnest  Christian  believers.  The  Puritan  settlers  of 
New  England  emigrated  at  infinite  pain  and  cost  for  the  single  pur 
pose  of  founding  a  truly  Christian  government.  The  purpose  of 
the  Quaker  followers  of  William  Penn,  the  founder  of  Pennsylvania 
and  West  Jersey,  was  no  less  specifically  religious.  The  Dutch  of 
the  valley  of  the  Hudson  and  of  East  Jersey ;  the  Huguenots,  who 
mingled  largely  with  the  other  colonists  from  Charleston  to  Massa 
chusetts  ;  the  Cavaliers  of  Virginia  ;  the  Romanists  of  Maryland ; 
the  Scotch-Irish  of  Pennsylvania,  West  Virginia,  and  North  Caro 
lina,  all  were  earnest  believers,  and  deliberately  intended  to  found 
their  nascent  commonwealths  on  the  basis  of  their  religion. 

Bancroft  says  that  "  the  birth  of  constitutional  liberty  took  place 
in  the  cabin  of  the  Mayflower."  There  the  charter  of  the  first 
colony  was  formed  and  signed.  It  begins  thus : 

"  In  the  name  of  God,  Amen.  We,  etc.,  .  .  .  having  undertaken  for  the 
glory  of  God,  and  advancement  of  the  Christian  faith,  and  honor  of  our  king  and 
country,  a  voyage  to  plant  the  first  colony  on  the  northern  part  of  Virginia,"  etc. 

The  Dutch  East  India  Company,  from  its  formation  in  1621, 
provided  for  the  religious  as  well  as  for  the  secular  wants  of  the 
colonists  in  New  Amsterdam.* 

In  1606  James  I.  of  England  gave  a  charter  to  the  Colony  of 
Virginia,  in  which  the  king  appeals  to  "  the  Providence  of  Almighty 
God,"  and  declares  that  one  object  of  the  plantation  is  "the  pro- 

*  See  Christian  Life  and  Character  of  the  Civil  Institutions  of  the  United  Slates,  by 
Rev.  B.  F.  Morris.  Philadelphia,  George  W.  Childs,  628  and  630  Chestnut  Street,  1864. 
To  this  wonderful  collection  of  facts  this  article  is  much  indebted. 


40  RELIGION  IN  THE  PUBLIC  SCHOOLS. 

pagation  of  the  Christian  religion."     In  another  charter,  given  three 
years  afterwards,  the  king  says  : 

"  It  shall  be  necessary  for  all  such  as  inhabit  within  the  precincts  of  Virginia  to 
determine  to  live  together  in  the  fear  and  true  worship  of  Almighty  God,  Christian 
peace,  and  civil  quietness. " 

William  Penn,  the  proprietor  and  law-giver  of  Pennsylvania  in 
1682,  declares  that  "  the  origination  and  descent  of  all  human  power 
is  from  God,"  so  that  "  government  seems  to  me  to  be  a  part  of  re 
ligion  itself."  The  English  element  of  this  primary  immigration 
ultimately  absorbed  and  dominated  all  the  rest,  and  consequently 
brought  the  English  traditional  common  law  into  active  force  in  all 
the  territories  covered  by  the  charters  of  the  original  colonies. 
That  common  law  is  consequently  the  basis  of  civil  and  political 
life  throughout  our  whole  land,  excepting  those  portions  bought 
from  France  or  Spain,  or  conquered  from  Mexico.  It  is  so  recog 
nized  in  all  our  courts,  state  and  federal;  except  in  so  far  as  it  has 
been  modified  by  our  changed  circumstances,  or  by  positive  legisla 
tion.  That  this  English  common  law  is  the  creature  of  Christianity 
has  never  been  questioned.  This  has  grown  and  been  confirmed  by 
the  habits  and  legislation  of  our  really  Christian  people  through  the 
two  hundred  and  fifty  years  in  which  our  institutions  have  been 
growing  on  American  soil,  and  in  doing  so  they  have  spread  through 
all  our  zones,  over  all  our  mountains  and  plains,  a  mass  of  prece 
dents,  half-unconscious  traditions,  self-executing  habits,  instincts, 
prejudices,  of  our  millions  of  people,  which  it  would  be  a  herculean 
task  to  undo  by  positive  legislation  in  a  thousand  years.  Our 
people  would  not  if  they  could,  and  they  could  not  if  they  would. 

The  first  constitutions  which  these  colonies  formed  for  them 
selves  were  explicitly  Christian.  Connecticut  gave  the  first  example 
of  a  written  Constitution  self-imposed  by  any  State.  That  first  Con 
stitution  recognizes  "  the  Providence  of  Almighty  God."  It  de 
clares  that  the  great  end  of  the  establishment  of  that  political  com 
monwealth  was  "  to  maintain  and  preserve  the  Gospel  of  our  Lord 
Jesus;"  It  declares  that  "  the  Scriptures  hold  forth  a  perfect  rule 
for  the  direction  and  government  of  all  men  in  all  duties  they  are  to 
perform  to  God  and  man."  The  first  act  of  the  Legislature  of  the 
Province  of  Pennsylvania,  at  Chester,  December,  1682,  declares  that 
"  Government  in  itself  is  a  venerable  ordinance  of  God,"  and  that  it 
was  the  principal  object  "  of  the  freemen  of  Pennsylvania  to  make 


RELIGION  IN   THE  PUBLIC  SCHOOLS.  4! 

and  establish  such  laws  as  shall  best  preserve  true  Christian  and 
civil  liberty,  in  opposition  to  unchristian,  licentious,  and  unjust 
practices."  The  Colonial  Legislature  of  New  York,  in  1665,  ordered 
that  a  church  should  be  erected  in  each  parish,  and  that  ministers 
should  preach  every  Sabbath.  The  Church  of  England  was  estab 
lished  in  the  Colony  of  Virginia,  and  remained  so  until  after  the 
Revolution.  The  first  charter  of  South  Carolina,  granted  in  1662,  by 
Charles  II.,  declared  that  pious  zeal  for  "  the  propagation  of  the 
Gospel "  had  been  the  actuating  motive  of  the  colonists.  The 
second  charter,  granted  in  1669,  provided  a  "  Fundamental  Consti 
tution,"  which  declared  the  Church  of  England  "  to  be  the  national 
religion  of  all  the  king's  dominions,  as  also  of  Carolina."  It  per 
mits  Jews  and  other  dissenters  from  the  purity  of  the  Christian 
religion  to  form  churches,  on  condition  they  should  (i)  acknowledge 
the  existence  of  God,  (2)  and  that  he  should  be  worshipped,  and  (3) 
that  every  man,  at  the  command  of  the  magistrate,  should  testify  in 
some  form  indicating  a  recognition  of  divine  justice  and  of  human 
responsibility. 

At  the  era  of  the  Revolution  all  the  colonies  adopted  Christian 
constitutions  in  assuming  their  new  character  as  sovereign  states. 
The  State  Constitution  of  Massachusetts,  adopted  1780,  declares 
"  That  the  happiness  of  a  people,  and  the  good  order  and  preser 
vation  of  civil  government,  essentially  depends  upon  piety,  religion, 
and  morality."  It  proceeds  to  provide  that  the  Legislature  shall 
require  the  "  several  towns  to  make  suitable  provision  for  the  sup 
port  of  Protestant  teachers  of  piety,  religion,  and  morality."  And 
it  ordains  that  every  person  "  chosen  governor,  lieutenant-governor, 
senator,  or  representative,  and  accepting  the  trust,  shall  subscribe  a 
solemn  profession  that  he  believes  in  the  Christian  religion,  and 
has  a  firm  persuasion  of  its  truth."  South  Carolina,  in  her  Constitu 
tion,  in  1778,  declares  "  that  all  persons  and  religious  societies  who 
acknowledge  that  there  is  a  God,  and  a  future  state  of  rewards  and 
punishments,  and  that  God  is  to  be  publicly  worshipped,  shall  be 
tolerated.  The  Christian  Protestant  religion  shall  be  deemed,  and 
is  hereby  constituted  and  declared  to  be,  the  established  religion  of 
the  State."  The  English  church  continued  the  established  church 
of  Virginia  until  after  the  Revolution.  The  "  Act  for  the  establish 
ment  of  religious  freedom,"  passed  through  the  influence  of  Jeffer 
son,  recognizes  "  Almighty  God,"  and  Christ,  "  the  Author  of  our 
religion,  the  Lord  both  of  body  and  mind."  The  constitutions  of 


42  RELIGION  IN   THE  PUBLIC  SCHOOLS. 

Pennsylvania,  North  Carolina,  Delaware,  and  Maryland,  all  formed 
in  1776,  all  required  a  professional  belief  in  the  truths  of  the  Chris 
tian  religion  as  a  condition  of  holding  any  office,  or  place  of  trust. 
Those  of  New  Jersey  and  of  Georgia,  in  1777,  restrict  toleration  to 
the  various  sects  of  the  Protestant  religion.  The  constitutions  of 
New  Hampshire,  Vermont,  and  Connecticut,  all  in  various  terms  de 
clared  the  duty  of  worshipping  God,  the  truth  of  the  Christian  re 
ligion,  and  the  importance  of  its  institutions.  The  Constitution  of 
the  State  of  New  York,  in  1777,  recognizes  the  special  character  of 
the  Christian  ministry  by  excluding  clergymen  from  holding  any  civil 
or  military  office  under  the  state.  The  Legislature  of  New  York,  in 
1838,  declares:  "This  is  a  Christian  nation.  .  .  .  Our  Govern 
ment  depends  for  its  being  on  the  virtue  of  its  people — on  the  vir 
tue  that  has  its  foundation  in  the  morality  of  the  Christian  religion, 
and  that  religion  is  the  common  and  prevailing  faith  of  the  people." 
The  Great  and  General  Court  of  Massachusetts  issued  a  proclama 
tion  in  1776,  declaring  "that  piety  and  virtue,  which  alone  can  se 
cure  the  freedom  of  any  people,  may  be  encouraged,  they  command 
and  enjoin  upon  the  good  people  of  this  colony  that  they  lead 
sober,  religious,  and  peaceable  lives,  avoiding  all  blasphemies,  con 
tempt  of  Holy  Scripture  and  of  the  Lord's  Day,  and  all  other 
crimes  and  misdemeanors."  The  seventh  section  of  the  Bill  of 
Rights,  forming  part  of  the  Constitution  of  Ohio  (1802),  which  was 
in  force  during  the  period  in  which  their  common-school  system 
was  perfected,  ends  as  follows  : 

"Religion,  morality,  and  knowledge,  however,  being  essential  to  good  govern 
ment,  it  shall  be  the  duty  of  the  General  Assembly  to  pass  suitable  laws  to  pro 
tect  every  religious  denomination  in  the  peaceable  enjoyment  of  its  own  mode  of 
worship,  and  to  encourage  schools  and  the  means  of  instruction." 

The  men  who  formed  the  Federal  Constitution  were,  with  no 
known  exception,  earnest  believers  in  the  moral  government  of  God, 
and  the  great  majority  were  earnest  Christians.  Franklin  and 
Jefferson,  who  would  naturally  be  thought  of  as  exceptions,  occu 
pied  very  much  the  position  of  the  more  conservative  and  reverent 
class  of  our  modern  Unitarians.  The  former  introduced  the  resolu 
tion  into  the  Convention  for  drafting  the  Federal  Constitution,  for 
opening  their  sessions  with  prayer,  saying :  "  The  longer  I  live  the 
more  convincing  proofs  I  see  of  this  truth,  that  God  governs  the  affairs 
of  men"  The  latter  said,  in  his  first  Message  as  President : 

"  Can  the  liberties  of  a  nation  be  thought  secure,  when  we  have  removed  their 


RELIGION  IN   THE  PUBLIC  SCHOOLS.  43 

only  firm  basis,  a  conviction  in  the  minds  of  the  people  that  these  liberties  are  the 
gift  of  God  ?  " 

But,  far  better  than  these,  Washington,  Patrick  Henry,  Samuel 
Adams,  John  Adams,  Roger  Sherman,  Richard  Stockton,  John 
Witherspoon,  Gouverneur  Morris,  Benjamin  Rush,  Alexander  Hamil 
ton,  Charles  Carroll,  John  Jay,  Elias  Boudinot,  James  Madison,  James 
Monroe,  and  afterwards  John  Quincy  Adams,  Andrew  Jackson, 
Henry  Clay,  Daniel  Webster,  and  Abraham  Lincoln,  were  sincere 
and  outspoken  believers  in  the  truth  and  universal  obligation  of  the 
Christian  religion. 

The  first  act  of  the  Continental  Congress,  Tuesday,  September 
6,  17/4,  was  to  resolve  that  the  Rev.  Mr.  Duch6  be  desired  to 
open  Congress  to-morrow  morning  with  prayer."  On  occasion 
they  resolved  to  attend  divine  service  as  a  body.  They  fre 
quently  recommended  to  the  authorities  of  the  several  states  the 
observance  of  days  of  humiliation,  fasting,  and  prayer.  In  Septem 
ber,  1777,  Congress,  voting  by  States,  resolved  that:  "The  Com 
mittee  on  Commerce  be  directed  to  import  20,000  Bibles."  In  1781, 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Aitken  asked  Congress  to  aid  him  in  printing  an  edition 
of  the  Bible.  A  committee  was  appointed  to  attend  to  the  matter, 
which  subsqeuently  secured  the  examination  and  approval  of  the 
work  done  by  Mr.  Aitken,  by  Bishop  White,  and  Doctor  Dufrield : 

"Whereupon,  Resolved,  That  the  United  States,  in  Congress  assembled, 
highly  approve  the  pious  and  laudable  undertaking  of  Mr.  Aitken,  .  .  .  and 
being  satisfied  of  his  care  and  accuracy  in  the  execution  of  the  work,  they  recom 
mend  this  edition  of  the  Bible  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  United  States." 

Although  the  Federal  Constitution  does  not  explicitly  recognize 
Christianity,  it  contains  no  single  phrase  that  by  remote  implication 
reflects  upon  it,  and  in  several  incidentals  it  implicitly  signifies  its 
truth  :  as  when  it  bears  date  "  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  1787"  ;  and 
when  in  four  places  it  demands  the  sanction  of  an  oath,  which  is 
essentially  a  religious  act ;  and  as  when  it  provides  for  the  observance 
of  the  Christian  Sabbath  (Art.  I,  §  7). 

From  the  first,  under  this  Constitution,  Congress  has  provided  for 
itself  a  constant  succession  of  chaplains,  and  the  sessions  of  both 
Houses  have  been  continuously  opened  with  religious  services. 
Chaplains  have  also  always  been  provided  by  law,  and  paid  from  the 
public  purse,  for  the  army,  navy,  and  prisons  of  the  United  States. 
The  same  has  been  done  by  all  the  several  states  for  the  service 
of  their  Legislatures,  militia,  prisons,  penitentiaries,  and  reformatories 


44  RELIGION  IN   THE  PUBLIC  SCHOOLS. 

of  all  kinds.  And  these  chaplains  are  required  by  law  to  be  regularly 
authorized  ministers  of  one  or  other  of  the  Christian  denominations. 

From  the  first,  throughout  our  whole  history,  the  Colonial  and 
State  Legislatures,  the  Continental  and  United  States  Congress, 
have  frequently  appointed  thanksgiving  days  and  days  of  fasting, 
humiliation,  and  prayer.  In  Virginia,  June,  1774,  at  the  first  news  of 
the  Boston  Port  Bill,  Mr.  Jefferson,  through  Mr.  Nicholas,  proposed 
a  day  of  "  fasting,  humiliation,  and  prayer,"  "  to  implore  Heaven  to 
avert  from  us  the  horrors  of  civil  war,"  etc.  On  December  11,  1776, 
another  fast  day  was  appointed,  and  God  acknowledged  as  the  su 
preme  "  Disposer  of  events,  and  Arbiter  of  the  fate  of  nations."  In 
November,  1776,  Congress  sent  an  address  to  the  several  States  and 
to  Washington's  army,  calling  for  a  service  of  thanksgiving  for  the 
victory  over  Burgoyne,  in  which  all  men  are  exhorted  "  to  confess 
their  manifold  sins,"  and  to  make  "  supplication  that  it  may  please 
God,  through  the  merits  of  Jesus  Christ,  mercifully  to  forgive,"  etc. 

These  fast-day  observances  were  the  united  acts  of  Congress  and 
of  the  several  State  Legislatures  and  their  governors.  They  were  the 
acts  of  the  Nation,  and  of  the  states  in  their  political  character,  and  as 
such  they  have  been  repeated  continuously  to  the  present  time.  The 
local  Thanksgiving  Day  of  New  England  puritanism,  as  Christian  in 
its  origin  as  Christmas  itself,  has  become  a  fixed  national  institution. 
In  every  instance  the  Thanksgiving-Day  proclamations  of  President 
or  Governor  constitute  an  explicit  official  recognition  of  God  and  of 
his  providential  and  moral  government,  and  implicitly  of  the  Chris 
tian  religion.  In  many  conspicuous  cases  the  full  faith  of  Christianity 
has  been  definitely  confessed.  In  1780,  Congress  uttered  a  call  to 
thanksgiving,  which  entreats  God  to  "  cause  the  knowledge  of  Chris 
tianity  to  spread  over  the  earth."  Again,  on  Thursday,  March  19, 
1782,  "The  United  States,  in  Congress  assembled,"  call  men  to 
pray  "  that  the  religion  of  our  divine  Redeemer,  with  all  its  divine 
influences,  may  cover  the  earth  as  the  waters  cover  the  seas." 
Again,  the  United  States,  in  Congress  assembled,  in  1783,  "call  men 
to  give  thanks  that  He  [God]  hath  been  pleased  to  continue  unto  us 
the  light  of  the  blessed  Gospel."  Again,  in  1787,  "  The  United 
States  of  America,  in  a  Committee  of  States  assembled,"  recommend 
to  the  "  Supreme  Executives  of  the  several  States,"  to  call  the  peo 
ple  to  give  thanks  to  God,  that  He  "  has  been  pleased  to  continue  to 
us  the  light  of  Gospel  truth."  The  proclamation  for  a  fast  day, 
March  23,  1778,  recognizes  the  "Redeemer  of  mankind,"  and  another 


RELIGION  IN  THE  PUBLIC  SCHOOLS.  45 

of  March  8,  1799,  recognizes  the  "  great  Mediator  and  Redeemer  and 
the  Holy  Spirit."  The  Senate  of  the  United  States,  March  2,  1863, 
passed  a  resolution  which  explicitly  declares  the  faith  of  the  Govern 
ment  in  the  success  of  the  war  to  rest  upon  "  the  assurances  of  His 
[God's]  Word,"  and  their  purpose  to  seek  God  "  through  Jesus 
Christ."  And  the  proclamation  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  of  same  date, 
signed  also  by  Wm.  H.  Seward,  acknowledges  the  "  Holy  Scriptures  " 
as  the  revelation  of  God.  The  acknowledgment  of  Christianity  is 
frequently  found  in  the  proclamations  of  the  governors  of  the  several 
States,  e.g.,  as  of  Seward,  of  New  York,  in  1839  and  1840,  of  Bouck, 
in  1844,  of  Silas  Wright,  in  1845,  of  John  Young,  in  1847,  1848,  of 
Horatio  Seymour,  1853,  J854,  of  Andrew,  of  Massachusetts,  1861,  of 
Olden,  of  New  Jersey,  1862,  of  Berry,  of  New  Hampshire,  1862,  of 
Lowe,  of  Iowa,  and  Brown,  of  Georgia,  1858. 

These  facts,  and  the  vast  multitude  which  they  represent,  have 
been  fully  recognized  by  some  of  the  most  profound  of  our  lawyers. 
Daniel  Webster,  "  the  interpreter  of  the  Constitution,"  says  : 

"There  is  nothing  we  look  for  with  more  certainty  than  this  principle  that 
Christianity  is  part  of  the  law  of  the  land.  General,  tolerant  Christianity,  independent 
of  sects  and  parties." 

In  his  Institutes  of  International  Law,  Judge  Story,  of  Massachu 
setts,  for  many  years  a  Justice  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United 
States,  said  : 

"  One  of  the  beautiful  traits  of  our  municipal  jurisprudence  is  that  Christianity 
is  part  of  the  common  law,  from  which  it  seeks  the  sanction  of  its  rights,  and  by 
which  it  endeavors  to  regulate  its  doctrine." 

In  1824,  the  Supreme  Court  of  Pennsylvania  declared,  in  a  judg 
ment  on  a  case  of  blasphemy,  that  "  Christianity,  general  Christianity, 
is  part  of  the  common  law  of  Pennsylvania."  Judge  Parsons,  of 
Massachusetts,  delivered  an  opinion  to  the  same  effect.  Chief- 
Justice  Kent,  of  New  York,  in  1811,  delivered  a  similar  opinion.  In 
the  same  year,  Justice  Allen,  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  New  York, 
delivered  the  unanimous  opinion  of  that  court  to  the  effect  that 
"  Christianity  is  part  of  the  common  law  of  this  state,  in  the  quali 
fied  sense  that  it  is  entitled  to  respect  and  protection  as  the  ac 
knowledged  religion  of  the  people." 

3d.  In  support  of  our  contention  that  Christianity  retains  its  ini 
tial  status  as  an  essential  element  of  the  law  of  our  land,  we  appeal 
to  the  fact  that,  in  spite  of  the  importation  of  multitudes  of  infidels 


46  RELIGION  IN   THE  PUBLIC  SCHOOLS. 

among  the  socialists  and  political  impracticables  that  Europe  is  con 
tinually  sending  us,  the  proportion  of  professed  Christians  to  the 
mass  of  the  community  has  been  steadily  increasing.  The  census  of 
1880  makes  the  communicating  members  of  the  Protestant  churches 
9,517,945.  Allowing  the  very  moderate  estimate  of  2,548,335  as  the 
number  of  actual  communicants  out  of  the  total  of  6,370,838  of  the 
Romanists,  we  have,  as  the  total  number  of  Christian  communicants 
in  the  country,  12,066,280.  The  total  adult  population,  in  1880,  was 
about  25,000,000,  making  almost  every  other  adult  a  communicant, 
and  hence  the  overwhelming  majority  adherents  to  Christianity  and 
its  institutions.  The  ratio  of  communicants  in  the  evangelical 
churches  to  the  entire  population  was,  in  1800,  I  to  every  14.50;  in 
1850,  I  to  every  6.57;  in  1870,  I  to  every  5.78;  and,  in  1880,  I  to 
every  5  of  the  inhabitants.  From  1800  to  1880  the  population  of 
the  nation  increased  9.46  fold,  while,  in  the  same  time,  the  evan 
gelical  communicants  increased  27.52  fold.  From  1850  to  1880  the 
population  increased  116  per  cent.,  and  the  evangelical  communicants 
increased  184  per  cent.,  while,  in  addition  to  this,  the  Roman  Catho 
lic  population,  which  was  very  small  before  1840,  has  increased  more 
than  400  per  cent,  in  the  last  thirty  years. 

III.  What,  then,  shall  we  conclude  is  the  demand  of  simple, 
rational  equity  as  between  the  rival  claims  of  the  believing  and  of 
the  unbelieving  contestants  in  the  case  in  hand  ?  The  antichristian 
minority  consists  of  two  parties:  (i)  The  Jews,  who  believe  in  God, 
and  in  the  Old  Testament  as  the  revelation  of  His  will;  (2)  the 
agnostics,  many  of  whom  do  not  really  know  that  they  do  not  know, 
and  only  half  believe  that  they  do  not  believe.  They  have  no  fixed 
convictions  and  no  inherited  institutions.  Has  the  great  mass  of  the 
nation,  the  true  heirs  in  succession  of  our  Christian  sires,  the  subdu- 
ers  of  the  wilderness,  the  conquerors  of  independence,  the  founders 
of  Constitution  and  laws,  no  rights?  Shall  the  Christian  majority 
consent  that  their  wealth  shall  be  taxed,  and  the  whole  energy  of 
our  immense  system  of  public  schools  be  turned  to  the  work  of  dis 
seminating  agnosticism  through  the  land  and  down  the  ages  ?  Ex- 
President  Woolsey  *  asks : 

"  What  right  has  the  state  to  permit  a  man  to  teach  a  doctrine  of  the  earth  or 
the  solar  system  which  rests  on  atheism,  if  theism  and  revelation  must  be  banished 
from  the  scholastic  halls.  Why  permit  evolution  to  be  publicly  professed  more 
than  predestination  ?  " 

*  Political  Science,  Vol.  II.,  p.  408. 


47 

IV.  The  alternative  is  simple.  Christians  have  all  the  power  in 
their  own  hands.  Says  President  Woolsey:* 

"If  this  should  be"  [the  policy  of  excluding  all  religion]  "the  course  of  opinion 
growing  out  of  the  doctrine  of  personal  and  family  rights,  will  not  one  of  two  things 
happen — that  all  the  churches  will  become  disaffected  toward  the  common  schools, 
as  the  Catholics  now  are,  and  provide  teaching  for  themselves,  while  the  schools 
will  be  left  to  the  fax  infima  populi ;  or  that  some  kind  of  compromise  will  be 
made  between  the  sects  and  the  state,  such  as  all  of  them,  with  one  exception, 
would  now  disapprove  ?  " 

The  danger  arises  simply  from  the  weak  and  sickly  sentimental- 
ism  respecting  the  transcendental  spirituality  of  religion,  the  non- 
religious  character  of  the  state,  and  the  supposed  equitable  rights  of 
a  small  infidel  minority.  All  we  have  to  do  is  for  Catholics  and  Pro 
testants — disciples  of  a  common  Master — to  come  to  a  common  un 
derstanding  with  respect  to  a  common  basis  of  what  is  received  as 
general  Christianity,  a  practical  quantity  of  truth  belonging  equally  to 
both  sides,  to  be  recognized  in  general  legislation,  and  especially  in 
the  literature  and  teaching  of  our  public  schools.  The  difficulties  lie 
in  the  mutual  ignorance  and  prejudice  of  both  parties,  and  fully  as 
much  on  the  side  of  the  Protestants  as  of  the  Catholics.  Then  let 
the  system  of  public  schools  be  confined  to  the  branches  of  simply 
common-school  education.  Let  these  common  schools  be  kept 
under  the  local  control  of  the  inhabitants  of  each  district,  so  that 
the  religious  character  of  each  school  may  conform  in  all  variable 
accidents  to  the  character  of  the  majority  of  the  inhabitants  of 
each  district.  Let  all  centralizing  tendencies  be  watchfully  guarded 
against.  Let  the  Christians  of  the  East,  of  all  denominations,  in 
crease  the  number  and  extend  the  efficiency  of  all  their  Christian 
academies  and  higher  colleges.  And  let  the  Christians  of  the  vast 
West  preoccupy  the  ground,  and  bend  all  their  energies  in  their 
efforts  to  supply  the  rising  floods  of  their  incoming  population  with 
a  full  apparatus  of  high-schools  and  colleges,  to  meet  all  possible 
demands  for  a  higher  education. 

One  thing  is  absolutely  certain.  Christianity  is  ever  increasing 
in  power,  and,  in  the  long  run,  will  never  tolerate  the  absurd  and 
aggressive  claims  of  modern  infidelity.  The  system  of  public  schools 
must  be  held,  in  their  sphere,  true  to  the  claims  of  Christianity,  or 
they  must  go,  with  all  other  enemies  of  Christ,  to  the  wall. 

A.  A.  HODGE. 

*  Political  Science,  Vol.  II.,  p.  414. 


THE   PAST  AND  THE   FUTURE  OF  THE  IRISH 
QUESTION. 

FOR  half  a  century  or  more  no  question  of  English  domestic  poli 
tics  has  excited  so  much  interest  outside  England  as  that  question 
of  resettling  her  relations  with  Ireland,  which  was  fought  over  in 
the  last  Parliament,  and  still  confronts  the  Parliament  that  has  just 
been  elected.  Apart  from  its  dramatic  interest,  apart  from  its  influ 
ence  on  the  fortune  of  parties,  and  its  effect  on  the  imperial  position 
of  Great  Britain,  it  involves  so  many  large  principles  of  statesman 
ship,  and  raises  so  many  delicate  points  of  constitutional  law,  as  to 
deserve  the  study  of  philosophical  thinkers  no  less  than  of  practical 
politicians  in  every  free  country.  It  is  naturally  in  America  that 
the  interest  of  observers  has  been  keenest.  Englishmen  are  usually, 
and,  on  the  whole,  wisely,  unmoved  by  the  opinion  of  the  European 
Continent.  Foreign  journalists  and  politicians  rarely  comprehend 
either  English  institutions  or  English  modes  of  thought  and  feeling, 
and  are  sadly  at  sea  in  their  estimate  of  English  public  men.  Because 
they  misinterpret  our  motives  they  misjudge  our  acts,  generally,  no 
doubt,  in  a  spirit  of  envy  and  suspicion  ;  but  sometimes,  also,  by  as 
cribing  to  us  a  profundity  and  tenacity  to  the  praise  of  which  we 
are  not  entitled.  But  American  opinion  is  another  matter.  We,  in 
England,  value  it,  because  we  know  that  it  is  based  not  only  on  the 
sense  of  kinship,  on  faith  in  the  power  of  freedom,  but  also  on  a 
sympathetic  insight  into  our  habits  of  thinking  and  doing,  and  an 
appreciation  of  the  principles  by  which  our  Government  is  worked. 
American  and  English  institutions  spring  from  the  same  root ;  and 
although  the  solutions  which  have  been  found  or  attempted  for  the 
political  problems  of  the  last  hundred  years  have  often  taken  differ 
ent  forms  on  the  two  sides  of  the  Atlantic,  the  problems  have  been 
mostly  similar  in  substance.  Each  nation  has  far  more  to  learn,  and 
does,  in  fact,  learn  far  more,  from  the  experience  of  the  other  than 
either  can  learn  from  any  other  source.  Watching  American  opinion 
with  the  care  it  deserves,  we  have  remarked  that  this  is  a  question 
which  the  people  of  the  United  States  are  following  with  a  specially 
close  and  interested  attention.  We  believe  it  to  be  one  whose  broad 


THE  PAST  AND    THE  FUTURE   OF   THE  IRISH  QUESTION.     49 

outlines,  at  least,  they  are,  from  their  own  history,  specially  compe 
tent  to  master  and  pronounce  upon.  It  has  a  practical  interest  for 
them,  as  well  as  for  us,  for  it  affects  the  political  attitude  of  a  large 
and  active  element  in  their  own  population.  And  with  this  natural 
desire  that  all  the  facts  should  be  known  to  them,  an  English  writer 
feels  almost  bound  to  accept  the  invitation  conveyed  to  him  to  lay 
before  the  readers  of  a  leading  American  review  some  of  the  facts 
which  he  thinks  material  to  a  fair  judgment  on  the  case — facts  whose 
importance  may  not  have  been  fully  gathered  from  that  daily  record 
of  events  which  the  telegraphic  cable  supplies.  Such  a  writer  is, 
however,  bound  to  repress  any  tendency  to  partisanship.  When  he 
brings  before  a  distant  public  matters  warmly  debated  in  his  own 
country,  he  must  endeavor  to  state  the  case  as  a  fair-minded  foreign 
observer  would  state  it,  and  to  give  the  reader  the  means  of  distin 
guishing  between  what  he  can  declare  to  be  unquestionable  facts  and 
such  inferences  as  he  may  draw  from  views  he  may  express  upon 
those  facts  themselves.  This  is  what  I  shall  try  to  do. 

The  circumstances  which  led  to  the  introduction  of  the  Govern 
ment  of  Ireland  Bill,  in  April  last,  are  familiar  to  Americans  as  well 
as  Englishmen.  Ever  since  the  crowns  and  parliaments  of  Great 
Britain  and  Ireland  were  united,  in  A.D.  1800,  there  has  been  in  Ire 
land  a  party  which  protested  against  that  union  as  fraudulently 
obtained  and  inexpedient  in  itself.  For  many  years  this  party,  led 
by  Daniel  O'Connell,  maintained  an  agitation  for  Repeal.  After  his 
death  a  more  extreme  section,  which  sought  the  complete  indepen 
dence  of  Ireland,  raised  the  insurrection  of  1848,  and  subsequently, 
under  the  guidance  of  other  hands,  formed  the  Fenian  conspiracy, 
whose  projected  insurrection  was  nipped  in  the  bud  in  1867,  though 
the  conspiracy  continued  to  menace  the  Government  and  the  tran 
quillity  of  the  island.  In  1872  the  Home  Rule  party  was  formed, 
demanding,  not  the  Repeal  of  the  Union,  but  the  creation  of  an  Irish 
Legislature,  and  the  agitation,  conducted  in  Parliament  in  a  more 
systematic  and  persistent  way  than  heretofore,  took  also  a  legitimate 
constitutional  form.  To  this  demand  English  and  Scotch  opinion 
was  at  first  almost  unanimously  opposed.  At  the  general  election 
of  1880,  which,  however,  turned  mainly  on  the  foreign  policy  of  Lord 
Beaconsfield's  Government,  not  more  than  three  or  four  members 
were  returned  by  constituencies  in  Great  Britain  who  professed  to 
consider  Home  Rule  as  even  an  open  question.  All  through  the 
Parliament  which  sat  from  1880  till  1885,  the  Nationalists'  party,  led 
4 


50        THE  PAST  AND    THE  FUTURE   OF   THE  IRISH  QUESTION. 

by  Mr.  Parnell,  and  including  at  first  less  than  half,  ultimately  about 
half,  of  the  Irish  members,  was  in  constant  and  generally  bitter  op 
position  to  the  Government  of  Mr.  Gladstone.  But  during  these 
five  years  a  steady,  although  silent  and  often  unconscious,  process 
of  change  was  passing  in  the  minds  of  English  and  Scotch  members, 
especially  Liberal  members,  due  to  their  growing  sense  of  the  mis 
takes  which  Parliament  committed  in  handling  Irish  questions,  and 
of  the  hopelessness  of  the  efforts  which  the  Executive  was  making 
to  pacify  the  country  on  the  old  methods.  First,  they  came  to  feel 
that  the  present  system  was  indefensible.  Then,  while  still  disliking 
the  notion  of  an  Irish  Legislature,  they  began  to  think  it  deserved 
consideration.  Next  they  admitted,  though  usually  in  confidence 
to  one  another,  that  although  Home  Rule  might  be  a  bad  solution, 
it  was  a  probable  one,  toward  which  events  pointed.  Last  of  all,  and 
not  till  1884,  they  asked  themselves  whether,  after  all,  it  would  be 
a  bad  solution,  provided  a  workable  scheme  could  be  found.  But 
as  no  workable  scheme  had  been  proposed,  they  still  kept  their 
views,  perhaps  unwisely,  to  themselves,  and  although  the  language 
held  at  the  general  election  of  1885  showed  a  great  advance  in  the 
direction  of  favoring  Irish  self-government,  beyond  the  attitude  of 
1880,  it  was  still  vague  and  hesitating,  and  could  the  more  easily  re 
main  so  because  the  constituencies  had  not  (strange  as  it  may  now 
seem)  realized  the  supreme  importance  of  the  Irish  question.  Few 
questions  were  put  to  candidates  on  the  subject,  for  both  candidates 
and  electors  wished  to  avoid  it.  It  was  disagreeable ;  it  was  perplex 
ing  ;  so  they  agreed  to  leave  it  on  one  side.  But  when  the  result  of 
the  Irish  elections  showed,  in  December,  1885,  an  overwhelming 
majority  in  favor  of  the  Home  Rule  party,  and  when  they  showed, 
also,  that  this  party  held  the  balance  of  power  in  Parliament,  no  one 
could  longer  ignore  the  urgency  of  the  issue.  There  took  place  what 
chemists  call  a  precipitation  of  substance  held  in  solution.  Public 
opinion  on  the  Irish  question  had  been  in  a  fluid  state.  It  now  be 
gan  to  crystallize;  and  the  advocates  and  opponents  of  Irish  self-gov 
ernment  fell  asunder  into  two  masses,  which  soon  solidified.  This 
process  was  hastened  by  the  fact  that  Mr.  Gladstone's  view,  the  in 
dications  of  which,  given  by  himself  some  months  before,  had  been 
largely  overlooked,  now  became  generally  understood.  The  conduct 
of  the  Government  of  Lord  Salisbury,  who  was  then  in  power,  had 
also  its  influence,  but,  as  this  is  matter  of  party  controversy  in  Eng 
land,  I  pass  it  by,  for  my  object  is  only  to  show  that  the  adoption 


THE  PAST  AND    THE  FUTURE   OF   THE  IRISH  QUESTION.      5 1 

of  a  Home  Rule  policy  by  one  of  the  great  English  parties  was  not 
so  sudden  a  change  as  it  seemed.  The  process  had  been  going  on 
for  years,  though  in  its  earlier  stages  it  was  so  gradual  and  so  un 
welcome  as  to  be  faintly  felt  and  reluctantly  admitted  by  the  minds 
that  were  undergoing  it.  In  the  spring  of  1886  the  question  could 
be  no  longer  evaded  or  postponed.  It  was  necessary  to  choose  be 
tween  one  of  two  courses  ;  the  refusal  of  the  demand  for  self-gov 
ernment,  coupled  with  the  introduction  of  a  severe  Coercion  Bill,  or 
the  concession  of  it  by  the  introduction  of  a  Home  Rule  Bill.  There 
were  some  few  who  suggested,  as  a  third  course,  the  granting  of  a 
limited  measure  of  local  institutions,  such  as  county  boards,  but  most 
people  felt,  as  did  Mr.  Gladstone's  Ministry,  that  this  plan  would 
have  had  most  of  the  dangers  and  few  of  the  advantages  of  either 
of  the  two  others. 

How  the  Government  of  Ireland  Bill  was  brought  into  the  House 
of  Commons  on  April  8th,  amid  circumstances  of  curiosity  and  ex 
citement  unparalleled  since  1832;  how,  after  debates  of  almost  un 
precedented  length,  it  was  defeated  in  June,  by  a  majority  of  thirty  ; 
how  the  policy  it  embodied  was  brought  before  the  country  at  the 
general  election,  and  failed  to  win  approval ;  how  the  Liberal  party 
has  been  rent  in  twain  upon  the  question  ;  how  Mr.  Gladstone  re 
signed,  and  has  been  succeeded  by  a  Tory  Ministry,  which  the  dis 
sentient  Liberals,  who  condemn  Home  Rule,  are  now  supporting — all 
this  is  too  well  known  to  American  readers  to  need  recapitulation 
here.  But  the  causes  of  the  disaster  may  not  be  equally  understood 
by  them,  for  it  is  only  now,  even  in  England — now,  when  the  smoke 
of  the  battle  has  cleared  away  from  the  field — that  these  causes  have 
begun  to  stand  revealed  in  their  true  proportions. 

First,  and  most  obvious,  although  not  most  important,  was  the 
weight  of  authority  arrayed  against  the  scheme.  The  opinion  and 
influence  of  leaders  still  count  for  much  in  English  politics,  probably 
far  more  than  in  America.  We  are  a  smaller  people,  where  the  per 
sonality  of  statesmen  can  more  easily  become  familiar  to  the  electors ; 
and  the  system  of  our  Government,  which  requires  not  only  the  Mi 
nistry  but  the  chiefs  of  both  parties  to  be  constantly  addressing  the 
nation  through  Parliament,  as  well  as  at  public  meetings,  keeps  them 
always  before  the  eye  and  ear  of  the  country,  disposing  it  to  seek 
guidance  from  them.  Now,  the  two  most  eminent  leaders  of  the 
moderate  Liberal,  or,  as  it  is  often  called,  Whig,  party,  Lord  Harting- 
ton  and  Mr.  Goschen,  both  declared  against  the  bill,  and  put  forth 


52      THE  PAST  AND    THE  FUTURE   OF   THE  IRISH  QUESTION 

all  their  oratory  and  influence  against  it.  At  the  opposite  extremity 
of  the  party,  Mr.  John  Bright,  the  veteran  and  honored  leader  of  the 
Radicals,  Mr.  Chamberlain,  the  younger  and  latterly  more  active 
and  prominent  chief  of  that  large  section,  took  up  the  same  position 
of  hostility.  Scarcely  less  important  was  the  attitude  of  the  social 
magnates  of  the  Liberal  party  all  over  the  country.  Although  of 
late  years  many  of  the  great  Whig  land-owning  families  have  gone 
over  to  the  Tory  party,  although  the  tendency  among  wealthy  finan 
ciers,  manufacturers,  merchants,  and  railroad  men  is  strongly  in  the 
same  direction,  there  had  still  remained  on  the  Liberal  side  a  fair 
proportion  of  the  landed  nobility  and  aristocracy,  as  well  as  of  the 
capitalists.  Most  of  these  men,  of  great  influence  over  their  tenants 
and  neighbors  in  the  country,  over  their  workpeople  in  the  towns — 
I  speak  of  legitimate  influence,  for  there  is  in  this  case  no  charge  of 
unfair  pressure — sided  with  Lord  Hartington  and  threw  their  weight 
into  the  anti-Irish  scale.  As,  at  the  preceding  general  election,  in 
December,  1885,  the  Liberals  had  obtained  a  majority  of  less  than  a 
hundred  over  the  Tories,  a  defection  such  as  this  was  quite  enough 
to  involve  their  defeat.  Probably  the  name  of  Mr.  Bright  alone 
turned  the  issue  in  some  twenty  constituencies,  which  might  other 
wise  have  cast  a  Home  Rule  vote. 

The  mention  of  this  cause,  however,  throws  us  back  on  the  fur 
ther  question,  Why  was  there  such  a  weight  of  authority  against  the 
scheme  proposed  by  Mr.  Gladstone?  How  came  so  many  of  his 
former  colleagues,  friends,  supporters  to  differ  and  depart  from  him 
on  this  occasion  ?  Besides  some  circumstances  attending  the]  pro 
duction  of  the  bill,  to  which  I  shall  refer  presently,  and  which  told 
heavily  against  it,  there  were  three  feelings  which  worked  upon  men's 
minds,  disposing  them  to  reject  it. 

The  first  of  these  was  dislike  and  fear  of  the  Irish  Nationalist 
members.  In  the  previous  House  of  Commons  this  party  had  been 
uniformly  and  bitterly  hostile  to  the  Liberal  Government.  Measures 
intended  for  the  good  of  Ireland,  like  the  Land  Act  of  1881,  had 
been  ungraciously  received,  treated  as  concessions  extorted,  for 
which  no  thanks  were  due — inadequate  concessions,  which  must  be 
made  the  starting-point  for  fresh  demands.  Obstruction  had  been 
freely  practised  to  defeat  not  only  bills  restraining  the  liberty  of  the 
subject  in  Ireland,  but  many  other  measures.  Some  members  of  the 
Irish  party,  apparently  with  the  approval  of  the  rest,  had  systemati 
cally  sought  to  delay  all  English  and  Scotch  legislation,  and,  in  fact, 


THE  PAST  AND    THE  fUTURE   OF   THE   IRISH  QUESTION.      53 

to  bring  the  work  of  Parliament  to  a  dead  stop.  Much  violent  lan 
guage  had  been  used,  even  where  the  provocation  was  slight.  The 
outbreaks  of  crime  which  had  repeatedly  occurred  in  Ireland  had 
been,  not,  indeed,  defended,  but  so  often  either  palliated  or  passed 
over  in  silence  by  Nationalist  speakers,  that  English  opinion  held 
them  practically  responsible  for  disorders  which,  so  it  was  thought, 
they  had  neither  wished  nor  tried  to  prevent.  (I  am,  of  course,  ex 
pressing  no  opinion  as  to  the  justice  of  this  view,  nor  as  to  the  ex 
cuses  to  be  made  for  the  parliamentary  tactics  of  the  Irish  party, 
but  merely  stating  how  their  conduct  struck  Englishmen.)  There 
could  be  no  doubt  as  to  the  hostility  which  they,  still  less  as  to  that 
which  their  fellow-countrymen  in  the  United  States,  had  expressed 
toward  England,  for  they  had  openly  wished  success  to  Russia 
while  war  seemed  impending  with  her,  and  the  so-called  Mahdi  of 
the  Sudan  was  vociferously  cheered  at  many  a  Nationalist  meeting. 
At  the  election  of  1885  they  had  done  their  utmost  to  defeat  Li 
beral  candidates  in  every  English  and  Scotch  constituency  where 
there  existed  a  body  of  Irish  voters,  and  had  thrown  some  twenty 
seats  or  more  into  the  hands  of  the  Tories.  Now,  to  many  English 
men,  the  proposal  to  create  an  Irish  Parliament  seemed  nothing  more 
or  less  than  a  proposal  to  hand  over  to  these  men  the  government 
of  Ireland,  with  all  the  opportunities  thence  arising  to  oppress  the 
opposite  party  in  Ireland  and  to  worry  England  herself.  It  was  all 
very  well  to  urge  that  the  tactics  which  the  Nationalists  had  pur 
sued  when  their  object  was  to  extort  Home  Rule  would  be  dropped, 
because  superfluous,  when  Home  Rule  had  been  granted  ;  or  to  point 
out  that  an  Irish  Parliament  would  probably  contain  different  men 
from  those  who  had  been  sent  to  Westminster  as  Mr.  Parnell's  nomi 
nees.  Neither  of  these  arguments  could  overcome  the  suspicious 
antipathy  which  many  Englishmen  felt,  nor  dissolve  the  association 
in  their  minds  between  the  Nationalist  leaders  and  the  forces  of 
disorder.  The  Parnellites  (thus  they  reasoned)  are  bad  men ;  what 
they  seek  is  therefore  likely  to  be  bad,  and  whether  bad  in  itself  or 
not,  they  will  make  a  bad  use  of  it.  In  such  reasonings  there  was 
more  of  sentiment  and  prejudice  than  of  reason,  but  sentiment  and 
prejudice  are  proverbially  harder  than  arguments  to  expel  from  minds 
where  they  have  made  a  lodgment. 

The  internal  condition  of  Ireland  supplied  more  substantial 
grounds  for  alarm.  As  everybody  knows,  she  is  not,  either  in  reli 
gion  or  in  blood,  or  in  feelings  and  ideas,  a  homogeneous  country. 


54      THE  PAST  AND   THE  FUTURE   OF   THE  IRISH  QUESTION. 

Three-fourths  of  the  people  are  Roman  Catholics,  one-fourth  Pro 
testants,  and  this  Protestant  fourth  subdivided  into  bodies  not  fond 
of  one  another,  who  have  little  community  of  sentiment.  Besides 
the  Scottish  colony  in  Ulster,  many  English  families  have  settled 
here  and  there  through  the  country.  They  have  been  regarded  as 
intruders  by  the  aboriginal  Celtic  population,  and  many  of  them, 
although  hundreds  of  years  may  have  passed  since  they  came,  still 
look  on  themselves  as  rather  English  than  Irish.  The  last  fifty 
years,  whose  wonderful  changes  have  in  most  parts  of  the  world 
tended  to  unite  and  weld  into  one  compact  body  the  inhabitants  of 
each  part  of  the  earth's  surface,  connecting  them  by  the  ties  of  com 
merce,  and  of  a  far  easier  and  swifter  intercourse  than  was  formerly 
possible,  have  in  Ireland  worked  in  the  opposite  direction.  It  has 
become  more  and  more  the  habit  of  the  richer  class  in  Ireland  to  go 
to  England  for  its  enjoyment,  and  to  feel  itself  socially  rather  Eng 
lish  than  Irish.  Thus  the  chasm  between  the  immigrants  and  the 
aborigines  has  grown  deeper.  The  upper  class  has  not  that  Irish 
patriotism  which  they  showed  in  the  days  of  the  national  Irish  Par 
liament  (1782-1800),  and  while  there  is  thus  less  of  a  common  na 
tional  feeling  to  draw  rich  and  poor  together,  the  strife  of  landlords 
and  tenants  has  continued,  irritating  the  minds  of  both  parties,  and 
gathering  them  into  two  hostile  camps.  As  everybody  knows,  the 
Nationalist  agitation  has  been  intimately  associated  with  the  Land 
agitation,  has,  in  fact,  found  its  chief  motive-force  in  the  desire  of 
the  tenants  to  have  their  rents  reduced,  and  themselves  secured 
against  eviction.  Now,  many  people  in  England  assumed  that  an 
Irish  Parliament  would  be  under  the  control  of  the  tenants  and  the 
humbler  class  generally,  and  would  therefore  be  hostile  to  the  land 
lords.  They  went  farther,  and  made  the  much  bolder  assumption 
that  as  such  a  Parliament  would  be  chosen  by  electors,  most  of  whom 
were  Roman  Catholics,  it  would  be  under  the  control  of  the  Catho 
lic  priesthood,  and  hostile  to  Protestants.  Thus  they  supposed  that 
the  grant  of  self-government  to  Ireland  would  mean  the  abandon 
ment  of  the  upper  and  wealthier  class,  the  landlords  and  the  Pro 
testants,  to  the  tender  mercies  of  their  enemies.  Such  abandon 
ment,  it  was  proclaimed  on  a  thousand  platforms,  would  be  dis 
graceful  in  itself,  dishonoring  to  England,  a  betrayal  of  the  very 
men  who  had  stood  by  her  in  the  past,  and  were  prepared  to  stand 
by  her  in  the  future,  if  only  she  would  stand  by  them.  It  was,  of 
course,  replied  by  the  defenders  of  the  Home  Rule  Bill,  that  what 


THE  PAST  AND    THE  FUTURE   OF   THE  IRISH  QUESTION.      55 

the  so-called  English  party  in  Ireland  really  stood  by  was  their  own 
ascendency  over  the  Irish  masses — an  oppressive  ascendency,  which 
had  caused  most  of  the  disorders  of  the  country  while  as  to  religion, 
there  were  many  Protestants  besides  Mr.  Parnell  himself  among  the 
Nationalist  leaders.  There  was  no  ill-feeling  (except  in  Ulster)  be 
tween  Protestants  and  Roman  Catholics  in  Ireland.  There  was  no 
reason  to  expect  that  either  the  Catholic  hierarchy  or  the  priesthood 
generally  would  be  supreme  in  an  Irish  Parliament,  and  much  reason 
to  expect  the  contrary.  As  regards  Ulster,  where,  no  doubt,  there 
were  special  difficulties,  due  to  the  bitter  antagonism  of  the  Orange 
men  (not  of  the  Protestants  generally)  and  Catholics,  Mr.  Glad 
stone  had  undertaken  to  consider  any  special  provisions  which  could 
be  suggested  as  proper  to  meet  those  difficulties.  These  replies, 
however,  made  little  impression.  They  seemed  to  be  too  hypo 
thetical  or  too  fine-drawn.  The  fact  stood  out  that  in  Ireland  two 
hostile  factions  had  been  contending  for  the  last  sixty  years,  and 
that  the  gift  of  self-government  might  enable  one  of  them  to  tyran 
nize  over  the  other.  True,  that  party  was  the  majority,  and,  accord 
ing  to  the  principles  of  democratic  government,  therefore  entitled  to 
prevail.  But  it  is  one  thing  to  admit  a  principle  and  another  to 
consent  to  its  application.  The  minority  had  the  sympathy  of  the 
upper  classes  in  England,  because  the  minority  contained  the  land 
lords.  It  had  the  sympathy  of  a  large  part  of  the  middle  class,  be 
cause  it  contained  the  Protestants.  And  of  those  Englishmen  who 
were  impartial  as  between  the  Irish  factions,  there  were  many  who 
held  that  England  must  in  any  case  remain  responsible  for  the  inter 
nal  peace  and  the  just  government  of  Ireland,  and  could  not  grant 
powers  whose  possession  would  tempt  the  one  party  to  injustice,  and 
the  other  to  resist  injustice  by  violence. 

There  was  another  anticipation,  another  forecast  of  evils  to  fol 
low,  which  told  most  of  all  upon  English  opinion.  This  was  the 
notion  that  Home  Rule  was  only  a  stage  in  the  road  to  the  complete 
separation  of  the  two  islands.  The  argument  was  conceived  as  fol 
lows  :  "  The  motive  passions  of  the  Irish  agitation  have  all  along 
been  hatred  toward  England  and  a  desire  to  make  Ireland  a  nation, 
holding  her  independent  place  among  the  nations  of  the  world.  This 
design  was  proclaimed  by  the  Young  Irelanders  of  1848  and  by  the 
Fenian  rebels  of  1866;  it  has  been  avowed,  in  intervals  of  candor, 
by  the  present  Nationalists  themselves.  The  grant  of  an  Irish  Par 
liament  will  stimulate  rather  than  appease  this  thirst  for  separate 


$6       THE  PAST  AND    THE  FUTURE   OF   THE  IRISH  QUESTION. 

national  existence.  The  nearer  complete  independence  seems,  the 
more  will  it  be  desired.  Hatred  to  England  will  still  be  an  active 
force,  because  the  amount  of  control  which  England  retains  will 
irritate  Irish  pride,  as  well  as  limit  Irish  action ;  while  all  the  misfor 
tunes  which  may  befall  the  new  Irish  Government  will  be  blamed, 
not  on  its  own  imprudence,  but  on  the  English  connection.  And  as 
the  motives  for  seeking  separation  will  remain,  so  the  prospect  of 
obtaining  it  will  seem  better.  Agitation  will  have  a  far  better  van 
tage-ground  in  an  Irish  Parliament  than  it  formerly  had  among  the 
Irish  members  of  a  British  Legislature  ;  and  if  actual  resistance  to 
the  Queen's  authority  should  be  attempted,  it  will  be  attempted 
under  conditions  far  more  favorable  than  the  present,  because  the 
rebels  will  have  in  their  hands  the  machinery  of  Irish  Government, 
large  financial  resources,  and  a  prima  facie  title  to  represent  the  will 
of  the  Irish  people.  As  against  a  rebellious  party  in  Ireland,  Eng 
land  has  now  two  advantages — an  advantage  of  theory,  an  advantage 
of  fact.  The  advantage  of  theory  is  that  she  does  not  admit  Ire 
land  to  be  a  distinct  nation,  but  maintains  that  in  the  United  King 
dom  there  is  but  one  nation,  whereof  some  inhabit  Great  Britain 
and  some  Ireland.  The  advantage  of  fact  is  that,  through  her  con 
trol  of  the  constabulary,  the  magistrates,  the  courts  of  justice,  and, 
in  fine,  the  whole  administrative  system  of  Ireland,  she  can  easily 
quell  insurrectionary  movements.  By  creating  an  Irish  Parliament 
and  Government  she  would  strip  herself  of  both  these  advantages." 

These  considerations  told  all  the  more  upon  English  waverers, 
because  they  seemed,  if  well  founded,  to  destroy  and  cut  away  the 
chief  ground  on  which  Home  Rule  had  been  advocated,  viz.,  that  it 
would  relieve  England  from  the  constant  pressure  of  Irish  discontent 
and  agitation,  and  bring  about  a  time  of  tranquillity,  permitting  good 
feeling  to  grow  up  between  the  peoples.  If  Home  Rule  was,  after 
all,  to  be  nothing  more  than  a  half-way  house  to  independence,  an 
Irish  Parliament  only  a  means  of  extorting  a  more  complete  emanci 
pation  from  imperial  control,  was  it  not  much  better  to  keep  things 
as  they  were,  and  go  on  enduring  evils,  the  worst  of  which  were 
known  already?  Hence  the  advocates  of  the  bill  denied  not  the 
weight  of  the  argument,  but  its  applicability.  Separation,  they 
urged,  is  impossible,  for  it  is  contrary  to  the  nature  of  things,  which 
indicates  that  the  two  islands  must  go  together.  It  is  not  desired  by 
the  Irish  people,  for  it  would  injure  them  far  more  than  it  could  pos 
sibly  injure  England,  since  Ireland  finds  in  England  the  only  market 


THE  PAST  AND    THE  FUTURE   OF    THE  IRISH  QUESTION.       $7 

for  her  produce,  the  only  source  whence  capital  flows  to  her.  A 
small  revolutionary  party  has,  no  doubt,  conspired  to  obtain  it.  But 
the  only  sympathy  they  received  was  due  to  the  fact  that  the  legiti 
mate  demand  of  Ireland  for  a  recognition  of  her  national  feeling  and 
for  the  management  of  her  own  local  affairs  was  contemptuously 
ignored  by  England.  The  concession  of  that  demand  will  banish 
the  notion  even  from  those  minds  which  now  entertain  it,  whereas 
its  continued  refusal  may  perpetuate  that  alienation  of  feeling 
which  is  at  the  bottom  of  all  the  mischief,  the  one  force  that  makes 
for  separation. 

It  is  no  part  of  my  present  purpose  to  examine  these  arguments 
and  counter  arguments,  but  only  to  show  what  were  the  grounds  on 
which  a  majority  of  the  English  voters  pronounced  against  the  Home 
Rule  Bill.  The  reader  will  have  observed  that  the  issues  raised  were 
not  only  numerous,  but  full  of  difficulty.  They  were  issues  of  fact, 
involving  a  knowledge  both  of  the  past  history  of  Ireland  and  of  her 
present  state.  They  were  also  issues  of  inference,  for  even  supposing 
the  broad  facts  to  be  ascertained,  these  facts  were  susceptible  of  dif 
ferent  interpretations,  and  men  might,  and  did,  honestly,  draw  oppo 
site  conclusions  from  them.  A  more  obscure  and  complicated  prob 
lem,  or  rather  group  of  problems,  has  seldom  been  presented  to  a 
nation  for  its  decision.  But  the  nation  did  not  possess  the  requisite 
knowledge.  Closely  connected  as  Ireland  seems  to  be  with  England, 
long  as  the  Irish  question  has  been  a  main  trouble  in  English  politics, 
the  English  and  Scottish  people  know  amazingly  little  about  Ireland. 
Even  in  the  upper  class,  you  meet  with  comparatively  few  persons 
who  have  set  foot  on  Irish  soil,  and,  of  course,  far  fewer  who  have 
ever  examined  the  condition  of  the  island  and  the  sources  of  her  dis 
content.  Irish  history,  which  is,  no  doubt,  dismal  reading,  is  a  blank 
page  to  the  English.  Nine  months  ago  one  found  scarce  any  poli 
ticians  who  had  ever  heard  of  the  Irish  Parliament  of  1782.  To-day, 
an  Englishman  anxious  to  discover  the  real  state  of  the  country  does 
not  know  where  to  go  for  information.  What  appears  in  the  English 
newspapers,  or,  rather,  in  the  one  English  newspaper  which  keeps  a 
standing  "  own  correspondent "  in  Dublin,  is  a  grossly  and  almost 
avowedly  partisan  report,  in  which  opinions  are  skilfully  mixed  with 
so-called  facts,  selected,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  to  support  the 
writer's  view.  The  Nationalist  press  is,  of  course,  not  less  strongly 
partisan  on  its  own  side,  so  that  not  merely  an  average  Englishman, 
but  even  the  editor  of  an  English  newspaper,  who  desires  to  ascer- 


$8      THE  PAST  AND    THE  FUTURE   OF   THE  IRISH  QUESTION. 

tain  the  true  state  of  matters  and  place  it  before  his  English  read 
ers,  has  no  better  means  at  his  disposal  for  understanding  Ireland 
than  for  understanding  Bulgaria.  I  do  not  dwell  upon  this  ignorance 
as  an  argument  for  Home  Rule,  though,  of  course,  it  is  often  so  used. 
I  merely  wish  to  explain  the  bewilderment  in  which  Englishmen 
found  themselves  when  required  to  settle  by  their  votes  a  question 
of  immense  difficulty.  Many,  on  both  sides,  simply  followed  their 
party  banners.  Tories  voted  for  Lord  Salisbury;  thorough-going 
admirers  of  Mr.  Gladstone  voted  for  Mr.  Gladstone.  But  there  was 
on  the  Liberal  side  a  great  mass  who  were  utterly  perplexed  by  the 
position.  They  saw  Mr.  Gladstone's  authority  opposed  by  that  of 
his  most  eminent  former  allies  and  lieutenants.  Contradictory  state 
ments  of  fact,  as  well  as  contradictory  arguments,  were  flung  at 
their  heads  in  distracting  profusion.  They  felt  themselves  unable  to 
determine  what  was  true  and  who  was  right.  But  one  thing  seemed 
clear  to  them.  The  policy  of  Home  Rule  was  a  new  policy.  They 
had  been  accustomed  to  censure  and  oppose  it.  Only  nine  months 
before,  the  Irish  Nationalists  had  emphasized  their  hostility  to  the 
Liberal  party  by  doing  their  utmost  to  defeat  Liberal  candidates  in 
English  constituencies.  Hence,  when  the  word  was  passed  that 
Home  Rule  was  the  true  remedy  which  the  Liberal  party  must  ac 
cept,  they  were  startled.  They  felt  like  the  Frankish  king,  when 
the  bishop  bade  him  burn  what  he  had  adored  and  adore  what  he 
had  burnt. 

Now,  the  English  are  not  a  nimble-minded  people.  They  cannot, 
to  use  a  familiar  metaphor,  turn  round  in  their  own  length.  Their 
momentum  is  such  as  to  carry  them  on  for  some  distance  in  the 
direction  wherein  they  have  been  moving,  even  after  the  order  to 
stop  has  been  given.  They  need  time  to  appreciate,  digest,  and 
prehend  a  new  proposition.  Timid  they  are  not,  nor  perhaps  excep 
tionally  cautious,  but  they  do  not  like  to  be  hurried,  and  insist  on 
looking  at  a  proposition  for  a  good  while  before  they  come  to  a 
decision  regarding  it.  As  has  been  observed,  this  proposition  was 
novel,  was  most  serious,  and  raised  questions  which  they  felt  that 
their  knowledge  was  insufficient  to  determine.  Accordingly,  a  large 
section  of  the  Liberal  party  refused  to  accept  it.  A  great  number, 
probably  the  majority,  of  these  doubtful  men  abstained  from  voting. 
Others  voted  against  the  Home  Rule  Liberal  candidates,  not  neces 
sarily  because  they  condemned  the  policy,  but  because,  as  they  were 
not  satisfied  that  it  was  right,  they  deemed  delay  a  less  evil  than 


THE  PAST  AND    THE  FUTURE    OF   THE  IRISH  QUESTION.       59 

the  committal  of  the  nation  to  a  new  departure,  which  might  prove 
irrevocable. 

It  must  not,  however,  be  supposed  that  it  was  only  hesitation 
which  drove  many  Liberals  into  the  host  arrayed  against  the  Irish 
Government  Bill.  I  have  already  said  that  among  the  leaders  there 
were  some,  and  those  men  of  great  influence,  who  condemned  its 
principles.  This  was  true  also  of  a  considerable,  though  a  relatively 
smaller,  section  of  the  rank  and  file.  And  it  was  only  what  might 
have  been  expected.  The  proposal  to  undo  much  of  the  work  done 
in  1800,  to  alter  fundamentally  the  system  which  had  for  eighty-six 
years  regulated  the  relations  of  the  two  islands,  by  setting  up  a  Par 
liament  in  Ireland,  was  a  proposal  which  not  only  formed  no  part  of 
the  accepted  creed  of  the  Liberal  party,  but  fell  outside  party  lines 
altogether.  It  might  no  doubt  be  argued,  as  was  actually  done, 
that  Liberal  principles  recommended  it,  since  they  involve  faith  in 
the  people,  and  faith  in  the  curative  tendency  of  local  self-govern 
ment.  But  this  was  by  no  means  axiomatic.  Taking  the  whole 
complicated  facts  of  the  case,  and  taking  Liberalism  as  it  had  been 
practically  understood  in  England,  a  man  might  be  a  good  Liberal 
and  yet  think  that  the  true  interests  of  both  peoples  would  be  best 
served  by  maintaining  the  existing  parliamentary  system.  Similarly, 
there  was  nothing  in  Toryism  or  Tory  principles  to  prevent  a  fair- 
minded  and  patriotic  Tory  from  approving  the  Home  Rule  scheme. 
It  was  a  return  to  the  older  institutions  of  the  monarchy,  and  not 
inconsistent  with  any  of  the  doctrines  which  the  Tory  party  had 
been  accustomed  to  uphold.  The  question,  in  short,  was  one  of 
those  which  cut  across  ordinary  party  lines,  creating  new  divisions 
among  politicians;  and  there  might  have  been  and  ought  to  have 
been  Liberal  Home  Rulers  and  Tory  Home  Rulers,  Liberal  oppo 
nents  of  Home  Rule  and  Tory  opponents  of  Home  Rule. 

But  here  comes  in  a  feature,  a  natural  but  none  the  less  a  regretta 
ble  feature,  of  the  English  party  system.  As  the  object  of  the  party 
in  opposition  is  to  turn  out  the  party  in  power  and  seat  itself  in 
their  place,  every  Opposition  regards  with  the  strongest  prejudice 
the  measures  proposed  by  a  ruling  Ministry.  Cases  sometimes  occur 
where  these  measures  are  so  obviously  necessary,  or  so  evidently  ap 
proved  by  the  nation,  that  the  Opposition  accepts  them.  But  in 
general  it  scans  them  with  a  hostile  eye.  Human  nature  is  human 
nature ;  and  when  the  defeat  of  Government  can  be  secured  by 
defeating  a  Government  bill,  the  temptation  to  the  Opposition  to 


60       THE  PAST  AND    THE  FUTURE   OF   THE  IRISH  QUESTION. 

secure  it  is  irresistible.  Now,  the  Tory  party  is  far  more  cohesive 
than  the  Liberal  party,  far  more  obedient  to  its  leaders,  far  less  dis 
posed  to  break  into  sections,  each  of  which  thinks  and  acts  for  itself. 
Accordingly,  that  division  of  opinion  in  the  Tory  party  which  might 
have  been  expected,  and  which  would  have  occurred  if  those  who 
composed  the  Tory  party  had  been  merely  so  many  reflecting  men, 
and  not  members  of  a  closely  compacted  political  organization,  did 
not  occur.  Liberals  were  divided,  as  such  a  question  would  natu 
rally  divide  them.  Tories  were  not  divided  :  they  threw  their  whole 
strength  against  the  bill.  I  am  far  from  suggesting  that  they  did  so 
against  their  consciences.  Whatever  may  be  said  as  to  two  or  three 
of  the  leaders,  whose  previous  language  and  conduct  have  been 
thought  to  indicate  that  they  would  themselves,  had  the  election  of 
1885  gone  differently,  have  been  inclined  to  a  Home  Rule  policy, 
most  of  the  Tory  chiefs,  as  well  as  the  great  mass  of  the  party,  hon 
estly  disapproved  Mr.  Gladstone's  measure.  But  their  party  motives 
and  party  affiliations  gave  it  little  chance  of  an  impartial  verdict  at 
their  hands.  They  went  into  the  jury-box  with  an  invincible  prepos 
session  against  the  scheme  of  their  opponents.  When  all  these  diffi 
culties  are  duly  considered,  and  especially  when  regard  is  had  to 
those  which  I  have  last  enumerated,  the  suddenness  with  which  the 
new  policy  was  launched,  and  the  fact  that  as  coming  from  one  party 
it  was  sure  beforehand  of  the  hostility  of  the  other,  no  surprise  can 
be  felt  at  its  fate.  Those  who,  in  England,  now  look  back  over  the 
spring  and  summer  of  1886  are  rather  surprised  that  it  should  come 
so  near  succeeding.  To  have  been  rejected  by  a  majority  of  only 
thirty  in  Parliament,  and  of  little  over  ten  per  cent,  of  the  total  num 
ber  of  electors  at  the  general  election,  is  a  defeat  far  less  severe  than 
any  one  who  knew  England  would  have  predicted. 

That  the  decision  of  the  country  is  regarded  by  nobody  as  a  final 
decision  goes  without  saying.  This  is  not  because  the  majority  was 
comparatively  small,  for  a  smaller  majority  the  other  way  would  have 
been  conclusive.  It  is  because  the  country  had  not  time  enough  for 
full  consideration  and  deliberate  judgment.  The  bill  was  brought 
in  on  April  I4th,  the  elections  began  on  July  1st ;  no  one  can  say 
what  might  have  been  the  result  of  a  long  discussion,  during  which 
the  first  feelings  of  alarm  (for  alarm  there  was)  might  have  worn  off. 
And  the  decision  is  without  finality,  also,  because  the  decision  of 
the  country  was  merely  against  the  particular  plan  proposed  by  Mr. 
Gladstone,  and  not  in  favor  of  any  alternative  plan.  One  particular 


THE  PAST  AND    THE  FUTURE  OF   THE  IRISH  QUESTION.      6 1 

solution  of  the  Irish  problem  was  refused.  The  problem  still  stands 
confronting  us,  and  when  other  modes  of  solving  it  have  been  in  turn 
rejected,  the  country  may  come  back  to  this  mode. 

We  may  now  turn  from  the  past  to  the  future.  Yet  the  account 
which  has  been  given  of  the  feelings  and  ideas  arrayed  against  the 
bill  does  not  wholly  belong  to  the  past.  They  are  the  feelings  to 
which  the  opponents  of  any  plan  of  self-government  for  Ireland  still 
appeal,  and  which  will  have  to  be  removed  or  softened  down  before 
it  can  be  accepted  by  the  English.  In  particular,  the  probability  of 
separation,  and  the  supposed  dangers  to  the  Protestants  and  the 
landlords  from  an  Irish  parliament,  will  continue  to  form  the  themes 
of  controversy  so  long  as  the  question  remains  unsettled. 

What  are  the  prospects  of  its  settlement  ?  What  is  the  position 
which  it  now  occupies?  How  has  it  affected  the  current  politics  of 
England  ? 

It  has  broken  up  the  Liberal  party.  The  vast  numerical  majority 
of  that  party  supported,  and  still  supports,  Mr.  Gladstone  and  the 
policy  of  Irish  self-government.  But  the  dissentient  minority  in 
cludes  many  men  of  influence,  and  constitutes  in  the  House  of  Com 
mons  a  body  of  about  seventy-three  members,  who  hold  the  balance 
between  parties.  For  the  present  they  are  leagued  with  the  Tory 
Ministry  to  resist  Home  Rule,  and  their  support  insures  a  parliamen 
tary  majority  to  that  Ministry.  But  it  is,  of  course,  necessary  for 
them  to  rally  to  Lord  Salisbury,  not  only  on  Irish  questions,  but 
on  all  questions,  for,  under  our  English  system,  a  Ministry  defeated 
on  any  serious  issue  is  bound  to  resign,  or  dissolve  Parliament.  Now, 
to  maintain  an  alliance  for  a  special  purpose,  between  members  of 
opposite  parties,  is  a  hard  matter.  Agreement  about  Ireland  does 
not,  of  itself,  help  men  to  agree  about  foreign  policy,  or  bimetallism, 
or  free  trade,  or  changes  in  land  laws,  or  ecclesiastical  affairs.  When 
these  and  other  grave  questions  come  up  in  Parliament,  the  Tory 
Ministry  and  their  Liberal  allies  must,  on  every  occasion,  negotiate 
a  species  of  concordat,  avhereby  the  liberty  of  both  will  be  fettered. 
One  party  may  wish  to  resist  innovation,  the  other  to  yield  to  it,  or 
even  to  anticipate  it.  Each  will  have  to  forego  something  in  order 
to  humor  the  other:  neither  will  have  the  pleasure  or  the  credit  of 
taking  a  bold  line  on  its  own  responsibility.  There  is,  no  doubt,  less 
difference  between  the  respective  tenets  of  the  great  English  parties 
than  there  was  twenty  years  ago,  when  Mr.  Disraeli  had  not  yet 
completed  the  education  of  one  party,  and  economic  laws  were  still 


62      THE  PAST  AND    THE  FUTURE   OF   THE  IRISH  QUESTION. 

revered  by  the  other.  But,  besides  its  tenets,  each  party  has  its 
tendencies,  its  sympathies,  its  moral  atmosphere ;  and  these  differ  so 
widely  as  to  make  the  co-operation  of  Tories  and  Liberals  con 
strained  and  cumbrous.  Moreover,  there  are  the  men  to  be  consid 
ered,  the  leaders  on  each  side,  whose  jealousies,  rivalries,  suspicions, 
personal  incompatibilities,  neither  old  habits  of  joint  action  nor  cor 
porate  party  feeling  exist  to  soften.  On  the  whole,  therefore,  it  is 
unlikely  that  the  league  of  these  two  parties,  united  for  one  question 
only,  and  that  a  question  which  will  pass  into  new  phases,  can  be 
durable.  Either  it  will  dissolve,  or  the  smaller  party  will  be  absorbed 
into  the  larger.  In  England,  as  in  America,  third  parties  rarely  last. 
The  attraction  of  the  larger  mass  is  irresistible,  and  when  the  crisis 
which  created  it  has  passed,  or  the  opinion  it  advocates  has  been 
either  generally  discredited  or  generally  adopted,  the  small  party 
melts  away,  its  older  members  disappearing  from  public  life,  its 
younger  ones  finding  their  career  in  the  ranks  of  one  of  the  two 
great  standing  armies  of  politics.  If  the  dissentient,  or  anti-Home- 
Rule,  Liberal  party  lives  till  the  next  general  election,  it  can  scarcely 
live  longer,  for  at  that  election  it  will,  according  to  all  present  proba 
bilities,  be  ground  between  the  upper  and  nether  millstones  of  the 
regular  Liberals  and  the  regular  Tories. 

The  Irish  struggle  of  1886  has  had  another  momentous  conse 
quence.  It  has  brought  the  Nationalist  or  Parnellite  party  into 
friendly  relations  with  the  mass  of  English  Liberals.  When  the 
Home  Rule  party  was  founded  by  Mr.  Butt,  some  fifteen  years  ago, 
it  had  more  in  common  with  the  Liberal  than  with  the  Tory  party. 
But  as  it  demanded  what  both  English  parties  were  resolved  to  re 
fuse,  it  was  forced  into  antagonism  to  both;  and  from  1877  onward 
(Mr.  Butt  being  then  dead)  the  antagonism  became  bitter,  and, 
of  course,  specially  bitter  as  toward  the  statesmen  in  power,  because 
it  was  they  who  continued  to  refuse  what  the  Nationalists  sought. 
Mr.  Parnell  has  always  stated,  with  perfect  candor,  that  he  and 
his  friends  must  fight  for  their  own  land  nnhampered  by  English 
alliances,  and  getting  the  most  they  could  for  Ireland  from  the 
weakness  of  either  English  party.  This  position  they  still  retain. 
If  the  Tory  party  will  give  them  Home  Rule,  they  will  help  the 
Tory  party.  However,  as  the  Tory  party  has  just  gained  office  by 
opposing  Home  Rule,  this  contingency  does  not  lie  within  the 
near  future.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Gladstonian  Liberals  have  lost 
office  for  their  advocacy  of  Home  Rule,  and  now  stand  pledged  to 


THE  PAST  AND    THE  FUTURE   OF   THE  IRISH  QUESTION.     63 

help  the  Nationalists  to  obtain  it.  The  latter  have,  therefore,  for 
the  first  time  since  the  days  immediately  following  the  Union  of 
A.D.  1800  (a  measure  which  the  Whigs  of  those  days  resisted),  a 
great  English  party  admitting  the  justice  of  their  claim,  and  invit 
ing  them  to  agitate  for  it  by  purely  constitutional  methods.  For 
such  an  alliance  the  English  Liberals  are  hotly  reproached,  both  by 
the  Tories  and  by  the  dissentients  who  follow  Lord  Hartington 
and  Mr.  Chamberlain.  They  are  accused  of  disloyalty  to  England. 
The  past  acts  and  words  of  the  Nationalists  are  thrown  in  their 
teeth,  and  they  are  told  that  in  supporting  the  Irish  claim  they  con 
done  such  acts,  they  adopt  such  words.  They  reply  by  denying  the 
adoption,  and  by  pointing  out  that  the  Tories  themselves  were  from 
1881  till  1886  in  a  practical,  though  unavowed,  parliamentary  alli 
ance  with  the  Nationalists  in  the  House  of  Commons.  The  student 
of  history  will,  however,  conceive  that  the  Liberals  have  a  stronger 
and  higher  defence  than  any  tu  quoque.  Issues  that  involve  the  wel 
fare  of  peoples  are  far  too  serious  for  us  to  apply  to  them  the  same 
sentiments  of  personal  taste  and  predilection  which  we  follow  in 
inviting  a  dinner  party,  or  selecting  companions  for  a  vacation  tour. 
If  a  man  has  abused  your  brother,  or  got  drunk  in  the  street,  you 
do  not  ask  him  to  go  with  you  to  the  Yellowstone  Park.  But  his 
social  offences  do  not  prevent  you  from  siding  with  him  in  a  conven 
tion.  So,  in  politics  itself,  one  must  distinguish  between  characters 
and  opinions.  If  a  man  has  shown  himself  unscrupulous  or  head 
strong,  you  may  properly  refuse  to  vote  him  into  office,  or  to  sit  in 
the  same  Cabinet  with  him,  because  you  think  these  faults  of  his 
dangerous  to  the  country.  But  if  the  cause  he  pleads  be  a  just  one, 
you  have  no  more  right  to  be  prejudiced  against  it  by  his  conduct 
than  a  judge  has  to  be  swayed  by  dislike  to  the  counsel  who  argues 
a  case.  There  were  moderate  men  in  America,  who,  in  the  days  of 
the  anti-slavery  movement,  cited  against  it  the  intemperate  language 
of  many  abolitionists.  There  were  aristocrats  in  England,  who,  dur 
ing  the  struggle  for  the  freedom  and  unity  of  Italy,  sought  to  dis 
credit  the  patriotic  party  by  accusing  them  of  tyrannicide.  But  the 
sound  sense  of  both  nations  refused  to  be  led  away  by  such  argu 
ments,  because  it  held  those  two  causes  to  be  in  their  essence  right 
eous.  In  all  revolutionary  movements  there  are  elements  of  excess 
and  violence,  which  sober  men  may  regret,  but  which  must  not  dis 
turb  our  judgment  as  to  the  substantial  merits  of  an  issue.  The  revo 
lutionist  of  one  generation  is,  like  Garibaldi  or  Mazzini,  the  hero 


64       THE  PAST  AND    THE  FUTURE   OF   THE  IRISH  QUESTION. 

of  the  next ;  and  the  verdict  of  posterity  applauds  those  who,  even 
in  his  own  day,  were  able  to  discern  the  justice  of  the  cause  un 
der  the  errors  or  vices  of  its  champion.  Doubly  is  it  the  duty  of 
a  great  and  far-sighted  statesman  not  to  be  repelled  by  such  errors, 
when  he  can,  by  espousing  a  revolutionary  movement,  purify  it  of  its 
revolutionary  character,  and  turn  it  into  a  legitimate  constitutional 
struggle.  This  is  what  Mr.  Gladstone  has  done.  And  I  am  the 
more  anxious  to  bring  this  aspect  of  the  case  before  American  read 
ers,  because  they  may  be  not  unnaturally  disposed,  as  so  many  of  us 
in  England  are,  to  let  their  views  of  the  issue  be  colored  by  their 
disapproval  of  the  past  tactics  of  the  Nationalist  party.  If  Mr. 
Gladstone's  policy  be  in  itself  dangerous  and  disloyal  to  the  true 
interests  of  the  people  of  our  islands,  let  it  be  condemned.  But  if 
it  be  the  policy  which  has  the  best  promise  for  the  peace,  the  pros 
perity,  and  the  mutual  good-will  of  those  peoples,  he  and  those  who 
follow  him  would  be  culpable  indeed  were  they  to  be  deterred  by 
the  condemnation  which  they  have  so  often  expressed,  and  which 
they  still  express,  for  the  conduct  of  a  particular  party,  from  declar 
ing  that  the  aims  of  that  party  were  substantially  right  aims,  and 
from  now  pressing  upon  the  country  what  their  conscience  approves. 

However,  as  the  Home  Rule  Liberals  and  Nationalists,  taken  to 
gether,  are  in  a  minority  in  the  present  Parliament,  it  is  not  from  them 
that  fresh  proposals  are  expected.  They  will,  of  course,  continue  to 
speak,  write,  and  agitate  on  behalf  of  the  views  they  hold.  But  the 
next  practical  attempt  to  deal  with  Irish  troubles  must  come  from 
the  Tory  Ministry ;  for  in  the  English  system  of  government  those 
who  command  a  parliamentary  majority  are  responsible  for  legisla 
tion  as  well  as  administration,  and  are  censured  not  merely  if  their 
legislation  is  bad,  but  if  it  is  not  forthcoming  when  events  call  for  it. 

Why,  it  may  be  asked,  should  Lord  Salisbury's  Government  burn 
its  fingers  over  Ireland,  as  so  many  governments  have  burnt  their 
fingers  before  ?  Why  not  let  Ireland  alone,  giving  to  foreign  affairs 
and  to  English  and  Scottish  reforms  all  the  attention  which  these  too 
much  neglected  matters  need  ? 

Well  would  it  be  for  England,  as  well  as  for  English  ministries,  if 
Ireland  could  be  simply  let  alone,  her  maladies  left  to  be  healed 
by  the  soft,  slow  hand  of  nature.  But  Irish  troubles  call  aloud  to  be 
dealt  with,  and  that  promptly.  They  stand  in  the  way  of  all  other 
reforms,  indeed,  of  all  other  business.  Letting  alone  has  been  tried, 
and  it  has  succeeded  no  better,  even  in  times  less  urgent  than  the 


THE  PAST  AND    THE  FUTURE   OF   THE  IRISH  QUESTION.       65 

present,  than  the  usual  policy  of  coercion  followed  by  concession,  or 
concession  followed  by  coercion. 

There  are  three  aspects  of  the  Irish  question,  three  channels  by 
which  the  troubles  of  the  "  distressful  island  "  stream  down  upon  us, 
forcing  whoever  now  rules  or  may  come  to  rule  in  England  to  at 
tempt  some  plan  for  dealing  with  them.  I  will  take  them  in  suc 
cession. 

The  first  is  the  parliamentary  difficulty.  In  the  British  House  of 
Commons,  with  its  six  hundred  and  seventy  members,  there  are 
nearly  ninety  Irish  Nationalists.  They  are  a  well-disciplined  body, 
voting  as  one  man,  though  capable  of  speaking  enough  for  a  thou 
sand.  They  have  no  interest  in  English  or  Scotch  or  colonial  or 
Indian  affairs,  but  only  in  Irish,  and  look  upon  the  vote  which  they 
have  the  right  of  giving  upon  the  former  solely  as  a  means  of  fur 
thering  their  own  Irish  aims.  They  are  therefore  in  the  British  Par 
liament  not  merely  a  foreign  body,  indifferent  to  the  great  British 
and  imperial  issues  confided  to  it,  but  a  hostile  body,  opposed  to  its 
present  Constitution,  seeking  to  discredit  it  in  its  authority  over  Ire 
land,  and  to  make  more  and  more  palpable  and  incurable  the  incom 
petence  for  Irish  business  whereof  they  accuse  it.  Several  modes 
of  doing  this  are  open  to  them.  They  may,  as  some  of  the  more 
actively  bitter  among  them  did  in  the  Parliaments  of  1874  and  1880, 
obstruct  business  by  long  and  frequent  speeches,  dilatory  motions, 
and  all  those  devices  which  in  America  are  called  filibustering.  The 
House  of  Commons  may,  no  doubt,  try  to  check  these  tactics  by 
more  stringent  rules  of  procedure,  but  the  attempts  already  made 
in  this  direction  have  not  succeeded,  and  every  restriction  of  debate, 
since  it  trenches  on  the  freedom  of  English  and  Scotch  no  less  than 
of  Irish  members,  injures  Parliament  as  a  whole.  They  may  disgust 
the  British  people  with  the  House  of  Commons  by  keeping  it  (as 
they  have  done  in  former  years)  so  constantly  occupied  with  Irish 
business  as  to  leave  it  little  time  for  English  and  Scotch  measures. 
They  may  throw  the  weight  of  their  collective  vote  into  the  scale  of 
one  or  other  British  party  according  to  the  amount  of  concession  it 
will  make  to  them,  or,  by  always  voting  against  the  Ministry  of  the 
day,  they  may  cause  frequent  and  sudden  changes  of  Government. 
This  plan  also  they  have  followed  in  time  past ;  for  the  moment  it 
is  not  so  applicable,  because  the  Tories  and  dissentient  Liberals, 
taken  together,  possess  a  majority  in  the  House  of  Commons.  But 
at  any  moment  the  alliance  of  those  two  sections  may  vanish,  or 
5 


66      THE  PAST  AND    THE  FUTURE   OF   THE  IRISH  QUESTION. 

another  general  election  may  leave  Tories  and  Liberals  so  nearly 
balanced  that  the  Irish  vote  could  turn  the  scale.  Whoever  reflects 
on  the  nature  of  Parliamentary  Government  will  perceive  that  it  is 
based  on  the  assumption  that  the  members  of  the  ruling  assembly, 
however  much  they  may  differ  on  other  subjects,  agree  in  desiring 
the  strength,  dignity,  and  welfare  of  the  assembly  itself,  and  in  caring 
for  the  main  national  interests  which  it  controls.  He  will  therefore 
be  prepared  to  expect  countless  and  multiform  difficulties  in  work 
ing  such  a  Government,  where  a  large  section  of  the  assembly  seeks 
not  to  use,  but  to  abuse,  its  forms  and  rules — not  to  preserve,  but  to 
lower  and  destroy,  its  honor,  its  credit,  its  efficiency.  In  vain  are 
Irish  members  blamed  for  these  tactics,  for  they  answer  that  the 
interests  of  their  own  country  require  them  to  seek  first  her  welfare, 
which  can  in  their  view  be  secured  only  by  removing  her  from  the 
direct  control  of  what  they  deem  a  foreign  assembly.  Now  that 
they  have  obtained  the  sympathy  of  the  bulk  of  English  Liberals, 
they  are  unlikely  forthwith  to  resume  the  systematic  obstruction  of 
past  years.  But  they  will  be  able,  without  alienating  their  English 
friends,  to  render  the  conduct  of  parliamentary  business  so  difficult 
that  every  English  Ministry  will  be  forced  either  to  crush  them,  if  it 
can,  or  to  appease  them  by  a  series  of  concessions. 

The  second  difficulty  is  that  of  maintaining  social  order  in 
Ireland.  What  that  difficulty  is,  and  whence  it  arises,  every  one 
knows.  It  is  chronic,  but  every  second  or  third  winter,  when  there 
has  been  a  wet  season,  or  the  price  of  live  stock  declines,  it  becomes 
specially  acute.  The  tenants  refuse  to  pay  rents  which  they  declare 
to  be  impossible.  The  landlords,  or  the  harsher  among  them,  try  to 
enforce  rents  by  evictions  ;  evictions  are  resisted  by  outrages  and  boy 
cotting.  Popular  sentiment  supports  those  who  commit  outrages, 
because  it  considers  the  tenantry  to  be  engaged  in  a  species  of  war, 
a  righteous  war,  against  the  landlord.  Evidence  can  seldom  be 
obtained,  and  juries  acquit  in  the  teeth  of  evidence.  Thus  the  en 
forcement  of  the  law  strains  all  the  resources  of  authority,  while  a 
habit  of  lawlessness  and  discontent  is  transmitted  from  generation 
to  generation.  Of  the  remedies  proposed  for  this  chronic  evil  the 
most  obvious  is  the  strengthening  of  the  criminal  law.  We  have 
been  trying  this  for  more  than  one  hundred  years,  since  White- 
boyism  appeared,  and  trying  it  in  vain.  Since  the  Union,  coercion 
acts,  of  more  or  less  severity,  have  been  almost  always  in  force  in 
Ireland,  passed  for  two  or  three  years,  then  dropped  for  a  year  or 


THE  PAST  AND    THE  FUTURE   OF   THE  IRISH  QUESTION.       67 

two,  then  renewed  in  a  form  slightly  varying,  but  always  with  the 
same  result  of  driving  the  disease  in  for  a  time,  but  not  curing  it. 
Mr.  Gladstone  proposed  to  buy  out  the  landlords  and  then  leave  an 
Irish  Parliament  to  restore  social  order,  with  that  authority  which  it 
would  derive  from  having  the  will  of  the  people  behind  it ;  because 
he  held  that  when  the  people  felt  the  law  to  be  of  their  own  making, 
and  not  imposed  from  without,  their  sentiment  would  be  enlisted  on 
its  side,  and  the  necessity  for  a  firm  Government  recognized.  This 
plan  has,  however,  been  rejected,  so  the  choice  is  left  of  a  fresh 
coercion  act,  or  of  some  scheme,  necessarily  a  costly  scheme,  for 
getting  rid  of  the  source  of  trouble  by  transferring  the  land  of 
Ireland  to  the  peasantry.  For  the  moment  things  are  compara 
tively  quiet,  because  the  present  Government,  which  has  far  more 
influence  with  the  Tory  landlords  than  any  Liberal  Government  can 
possess,  is  doing  its  best  to  persuade  the  landlords  to  accept  reduced 
rents,  while  the  Nationalist  leaders,  on  their  side,  are  believed  to  be 
trying  to  restrain  the  people,  But  the  armistice  cannot  last.  The 
Ministry  must  propose  something,  and  their  proposal  will  raise  the 
Irish  problem  in  its  entirety. 

There  remains  the  question  of  a  reform  of  local  government. 
For  many  years  past,  every  English  Ministry  has  undertaken  to 
frame  a  measure  creating  a  new  system  of  popular  rural  self-govern 
ment  in  England.  It  is  the  first  large  task  of  domestic  legislation 
which  we  ask  from  Parliament.  When  such  a  scheme  is  proposed, 
can  Ireland  be  left  out  of  it?  Should  she  be  left  out,  the  argu 
ment  that  she  is  being  treated  unequally  and  unfairly,  as  compared 
with  England,  would  gain  immense  force  ;  because  the  present  lo 
cal  government  of  Ireland  is  admittedly  less  popular,  less  efficient, 
altogether  less  defensible  than  even  that  of  England  which  we  are 
going  to  reform.  If,  therefore,  the  theory  that  the  Imperial  Parlia 
ment  is  both  anxious  and  able  to  do  its  duty  by  Ireland  is  to  be 
maintained,  Ireland  too  must  have  her  scheme  of  local  government. 
And  a  scheme  of  local  government  is  a  large  project,  the  discussion 
of  which  must  pass  into  a  discussion  of  the  government  of  the 
island  as  a  whole. 

Since,  then,  we  may  conclude  that  whatever  Ministry  is  in  power 
will  be  bound  to  take  up  the  state  of  Ireland — since  Parliament  and 
the  nation  will  be  occupied  with  the  subject  during  the  coming 
sessions  fully  as  much  as  they  have  been  during  those  that  have 
recently  passed — the  next  inquiry  is,  what  will  the  tendency  of 


68       THE  PAST  AND    THE  FUTURE   OF   THE  IRISH  QUESTION. 

opinion  and  legislation  be  ?  Will  the  reasons  and  forces  described 
above  bring  us  to  Home  Rule?  and  if  so,  when,  how,  and  why? 

There  are  grounds  for  overruling  these  questions  in  the  negative. 
A  majority  of  the  House  of  Commons,  including  the  present 
Ministry  and  such  influential  Liberals  as  Mr.  Bright,  Lord  Har- 
tington,  Mr.  Chamberlain,  stand  pledged  to  resist  it.  But  this 
ground  is  less  strong  than  it  may  appear.  We  have  had  too  many 
changes  of  opinion — ay,  and  of  action  too — upon  Irish  affairs,  not  to 
be  prepared  for  further  changes.  A  Ministry  in  power  learns  much 
which  an  Opposition  fails  to  learn.  Home  Rule  is  an  elastic  ex 
pression,  and  some  of  those  who  were  loudest  in  denouncing  Mr. 
Gladstone's  bill  will  find  it  easy  to  explain,  should  they  bring  in  a 
bill  of  their  own  for  giving  self-government  to  Ireland,  that  their 
measure  is  a  different  thing,  and  free  from  the  objections  brought 
against  his.  Now,  if  such  a  conversion  should  come,  need  it  be 
deemed  a  dishonest  one  ?  for  events  are  potent  teachers,  and  govern 
ments  now  seek  rather  to  follow  than  to  form  opinion.  Although  a 
decent  interval  must  be  allowed,  no  one  will  be  astonished  if  the 
Tory  leaders  should  move  ere  long  in  the  direction  indicated. 
Toryism  itself,  as  has  been  remarked  already,  contains  nothing 
opposed  to  the  idea. 

Far  greater  obstacles  exist  in  the  aversion  which  (as  already 
observed)  so  many  Englishmen  of  both  parties  entertain  for  any 
scheme  which  should  seem  to  leave  the  Protestant  minority  at  the 
mercy  of  the  peasant  and  Roman  Catholic  majority,  and  to  carry  us 
some  way  toward  the  ultimate  separation  of  the  islands.  These 
alarms  are  genuine  and  deep  seated.  One  who  (like  the  present 
writer)  thinks  them  overstrained  is,  of  course,  disposed  to  think  that 
they  may  be  allayed.  But  time  must  first  pass,  and  the  plan  that 
is  to  allay  them  may  have  to  be  framed  on  somewhat  different 
lines  from  those  of  Mr.  Gladstone's  measure.  It  is  even  possible, 
though  happily  not  probable,  that  a  conflict  more  sharp  and  painful 
than  any  of  recent  years  may  intervene  before  a  settlement  is 
reached. 

Nevertheless,  great  as  are  the  obstacles  in  the  way,  bitter  as  are 
the  reproaches  with  which  Mr.  Gladstone  is  pursued  by  the  upper 
classes  in  England,  there  is  good  reason  to  believe  that  the  current  is 
setting  toward  his  policy.  In  proceeding  to  state  the  grounds  for 
this  view,  I  must  frankly  own  that  I  am  no  longer  (as  in  most  of  the 
preceding  pages)  merely  setting  forth  facts  on  which  impartial  men 


THE  PAST  AND    THE  FUTURE  OF   THE  IRISH  QUESTION.      69 

in  England  would  agree.  The  forecast  which  I  seek  to  give  may  be 
tinged  by  my  own  belief  that  the  grant  of  self-government  is  the 
best,  if  not  the  only  method,  now  open  to  us  of  establishing  peace 
between  the  islands,  relieving  the  English  Parliament  of  work  it  is 
ill  fitted  to  discharge,  allowing  Ireland  opportunities  to  learn  those 
lessons  in  politics  which  her  people  so  much  need.  The  future,  even 
the  near  future,  is  more  than  usually  dim.  Yet,  if  we  examine  those 
three  branches  of  the  Irish  question  which  have  been  enumerated 
above,  we  shall  see  how  naturally,  in  each  of  them,  the  concession  of 
self-government  seems  to  open,  I  will  not  say  the  most  direct,  but 
the  least  dangerous  way,  out  of  our  troubles. 

The  parliamentary  difficulty  arises  from  the  fact  that  the  repre 
sentatives  of  Ireland  have  the  feelings  of  foreigners  sitting  in  a  for 
eign  assembly,  whose  honors  and  usefulness  they  do  not  desire. 
While  these  are  their  feelings  they  cannot  work  properly  in  it,  and 
it  cannot  work  properly  with  them.  The  inconvenience  may  be  en 
dured,  but  the  English  will  grow  tired  of  it,  and  be  disposed  to  rid 
themselves  of  it,  if  they  see  their  way  to  do  so  without  greater  mis 
chief.  The  experience  of  the  Parliament  of  1880,  which  was  mainly 
occupied  with  Irish  business,  and  began,  being  a  strongly  Liberal 
Parliament,  with  a  bias  toward  the  Irish  popular  party,  showed  how 
difficult  it  is  for  a  House  of  Commons  which  is  ignorant  of  Ireland 
to  legislate  wisely  for  it.  In  the  House  of  Lords  there  is  not  a  sin 
gle  Nationalist ;  indeed,  up  till  last  February,  that  exalted  chamber 
contained  only  one  peer,  Lord  Dalhousie  (formerly  member  for  Liver 
pool)  who  had  ever  said  a  word  in  favor  of  Home  Rule.  The  more 
that  England  becomes  sensible,  as  she  must  become  sensible,  of  the 
deficiencies  of  the  present  machinery  for  appreciating  the  needs  and 
giving  effect  to  the  wishes  of  Irishmen,  the  more  disposed  will  she 
be  to  grant  them  some  machinery  of  their  own. 

As  regards  social  order,  I  have  shown  that  the  choice  which  lies 
before  the  opponents  of  Home  Rule  is  either  to  resume  the  policy 
of  coercing  the  peasantry  by  severe  special  legislation,  or  to  remove 
the  source  of  friction  by  buying  out  the  landlords  for  the  benefit  of 
the  tenants.  The  adoption  of  the  latter  alternative,  which  the  pres 
ent  Ministry  will  prefer,  if  Parliament  consents  to  provide  the  money 
(it  must  be  advanced  on  very  easy  terms,  in  order  to  induce  the 
tenants  to  buy),  would  remove  one  of  the  chief  objections  to  an  Irish 
Parliament,  by  leaving  no  estates  for  such  a  Parliament  to  confis 
cate.  The  former  has  become  more  and  more  odious  to  the  English 


70       THE  PAST  AND    THE  FUTURE   OF   THE  IRISH  QUESTION. 

democracy.  They  dislike  severity  ;  they  dislike  the  inequality  in 
volved  in  passing  harsher  laws  for  Ireland  than  those  that  apply  to 
England  and  Scotland.  Fresh  coercion  acts  may,  perhaps,  be  passed, 
if  disorder  should  be  rife  in  Ireland  ;  but  it  will  be  far  more  difficult 
to  pass  them,  and  the  recoil  afterward  will  be  more  violent  than  in 
former  days.  The  wish  to  discover  some  other  course  will  be  very 
strong,  and  the  obvious  other  course  will  be  to  leave  it  to  an  Irish 
authority  to  enforce  social  order  in  its  own  way — probably  a  more 
rough-and-ready  way  than  that  of  British  officials.  The  notion 
which  has  possessed  most  Englishmen,  that  Irish  self-government 
would  be  another  name  for  anarchy,  is  curiously  erroneous.  Con 
flicts  there  may  be,  but  a  vigorous  rule  will  emerge. 

Lastly,  as  to  local  government.  If  a  popular  system  is  estab 
lished  in  Ireland — one  similar  to  that  which  it  is  proposed  to  es 
tablish  in  England — the  control  of  its  assemblies  and  officials  will, 
over  four-fifths  of  the  island,  fall  into  Nationalist  hands.  Their 
power  will  be  enormously  increased,  for  they  will  then  command  the 
machinery  of  administration,  and  the  power  of  taxing.  What  with 
taxing  landlords,  aiding  recalcitrant  tenants,  stopping  the  wheels 
of  any  central  authority  which  may  displease  or  oppose  them,  they 
will  be  in  so  strong  a  position  that  the  creation  of  an  Irish  Parlia 
ment  may  appear  to  be  a  comparatively  small  further  step,  may  even 
appear  (as  the  wisest  Nationalists  now  think  it  would  prove)  in  the 
light  of  a  check  upon  the  abuse  of  local  powers.  These  eventuali 
ties  would,  no  doubt,  when  English  opinion  has  realized  them,  make 
Parliament  pause  before  it  committed  rural  local  government  to 
the  Irish  democracy.  But  it  could  not  refuse  to  do  something  ;  and 
if  it  tried  to  restrain  popular  representative  bodies  by  the  veto  of 
a  bureaucracy  in  Dublin,  there  would  arise  occasions  for  quarrel  and 
irritation  more  serious  than  now  exist.  Those  who  once  begin  to 
repair  an  old  and  tottering  building  are  led  on,  little  by  little,  into 
changes  they  did  not  at  starting  contemplate.  So  it  will  be  if  once 
the  task  is  undertaken  of  reforming  the  confessedly  bad  and  inde 
fensible  system  of  Irish  administration.  We  may  stop  at  some  half 
way  house  on  the  way,  but  Home  Rule  stands  at  the  end  of  the 
road. 

Supposing,  then,  that  the  Nationalist  party,  retaining  its  present 
strength  and  unity,  perseveres  in  its  present  demands,  there  is  a  fair 
prospect  that  these  demands  will  be  granted.  But  will  it  persevere  ? 
It  may  break  up,  as  such  parties  have  broken  up  before.  It  may 


THE  PAST  AND    THE  FUTURE  OP   THE  IRISH  QUESTION.       71 

lose  hope  and  wither  away.  Or  the  support  of  the  Irish  peasantry 
may  be  withdrawn — a  result  which  some  English  politicians  expect 
from  a  final  settlement  of  the  Land  question  in  the  interest  of  the 
tenants.  Any  of  these  contingencies  is  possible,  but  at  present 
hardly  probable.  The  moment  when  long-cherished  aims  begin  to 
seem  attainable  is  not  that  at  which  men  are  disposed  to  abandon 
them. 

There  are,  however,  other  reasons  which  suggest  the  likelihood 
of  a  change  in  English  sentiment  on  the  whole  matter.  The  sur 
prise  with  which  the  bill  of  last  April  was  received  is  wearing  off. 
The  alarm  may  wear  off,  too.  John  Bull  set  his  teeth  at  the  notion 
of  a  surrender  to  the  Parnellites  and  their  Irish- American  allies,  for 
it  was  in  the  light  of  a  surrender  that  the  bill  struck  him.  Now 
that  he  has  relieved  his  temper  by  an  emphatic  No,  he  will  begin  to 
ponder  things  more  calmly.  He  will  listen  to  the  arguments  from 
Irish  history  that  are  to  be  addressed  to  him.  He  will  be  moved  by 
the  solid  grounds  of  policy  which  that  history  suggests,  will  under 
stand  that  what  he  has  deemed  insensate  hatred  is  the  natural  re 
sult  of  long  misgovernment,  and  will  disappear  with  time  and  the 
removal  of  its  causes.  Many  of  the  best  minds  of  both  nations  will 
be  at  work  to  discover  some  method  of  reconciling  Irish  self-govern 
ment  with  imperial  supremacy  and  union  open  to  fewer  objections 
than  those  brought  against  the  late  bill.  It  is  reasonable  to  expect 
that  they  may  greatly  improve  upon  that  measure,  which  was  pre 
pared  under  pressure  from  a  clamorous  Opposition.  What  Mr.  Dis 
raeli  once  called  the  historical  conscience  of  the  country  will  appre 
ciate  those  great  underlying  principles  to  which  Mr.  Gladstone's 
policy  appeals.  It  has  been  accused  of  being  a  policy  of  despair : 
and  may  have  commended  itself  to  some  who  supported  it  as  being 
simply  a  means  of  ridding  England  of  responsibility.  But  to  others 
it  seemed,  and  more  truly,  a  policy  of  faith,  not,  indeed,  of  thought 
less  optimism,  but  of  faith  according  to  the  definition  which  calls  it 
"the  substance  of  things  hoped  for,  the  evidence  of  things  not 
seen."  Faith,  by  which  nations  as  well  as  men  must  live,  means 
nothing  less  than  a  conviction  that  great  principles,  permanent 
truths  of  human  nature,  lie  at  the  bottom  of  all  sound  politics,  and 
ought  to  be  boldly  and  consistently  applied,  even  when  temporary 
difficulties  surround  their  application.  Such  a  principle  is  the  belief 
in  the  power  of  freedom  and  self-government  to  cure  the  faults  of  a 
nation,  in  the  tendency  of  responsibility  to  teach  wisdom  and  make 


?2       THE  PAST  AND    THE  FUTURE   OF   THE  IRISH  QUESTION. 

men  see  that  justice  and  order  are  the  sources  of  prosperity.  Such 
a  principle  is  the  perception  that  national  hatreds  do  not  live  on  of 
themselves,  but  will  expire  when  oppression  has  ceased,  as  a  fire 
burns  out  without  fuel.  Such  a  principle  is  the  recognition  of  the 
force  of  national  sentiment,  and  of  the  duty  of  allowing  it  so  much 
satisfaction  as  is  compatible  with  the  maintenance  of  imperial  unity. 
Such,  again,  is  the  appreciation  of  those  natural  economic  laws  which 
show  that  nations,  when  disturbing  passions  have  ceased,  follow 
their  own  permanent  interests,  and  that  an  island  which  finds  its 
chief  market  in  England  and  draws  its  capital  from  England  will  pre 
fer  a  connection  with  England  to  the  poverty  and  insignificance  of 
isolation.  It  is  the  honor  of  Mr.  Gladstone  to  have  built  his  policy 
of  conciliation  upon  such  principles  as  these,  as  upon  a  rock  ;  and 
already  the  good  effects  are  seen  in  the  new  friendliness  which  has 
arisen  between  the  English  masses  and  the  people  of  Ireland,  in  the 
better  temper  with  which,  despite  the  acrimony  of  some  prominent 
politicians,  the  relations  of  the  two  peoples  are  discussed.  When 
one  looks  round  the  horizon  it  is  still  dark,  nor  can  it  be  said  from 
which  quarter  fair  weather  will  arrive.  But  the  air  is  fresher,  and 
the  clouds  are  breaking  overhead. 

JAMES  BRYCE. 


GENERAL   McCLELLAN.* 

McCLELLAN  was  the  first  to  show  appreciation  of  the  qualities  of 
his  enemies.  This  respect  for  his  adversaries  (an  essential  quality  in 
a  great  military  commander)  was  in  him  the  result  of  old  personal 
intimacies  with  some  of  them,  but,  still  more,  the  result  of  a  keen 
sense  of  justice  joined  to  a  mild  firmness  of  character  and  tempe 
rance  of  spirit ;  and  in  setting  an  example  in  this  to  others  he  ac 
complished  a  brilliant  stroke  of  policy — he  prepared  the  Army  of 
the  Potomac  to  appreciate  Grant's  generosity  at  Appomattox  Court- 
House.  And  a  most  beautiful  recompense  of  his  conduct  is  found  in 
the  presence  among  the  pall-bearers  who  escorted  him  to  his  last 
resting-place  the  strong  adversary  of  other  days,  gloriously  wounded 
at  "  Seven  Pines,"  the  Confederate  General  Joseph  E.  Johnston. 

Any  one,  either  in  the  North  or  the  South,  who,  inspired  with  the 
gift  of  prophecy,  should  have  ventured,  in  September,  1861,  to  pre 
sage  the  possibility  of  such  an  event  as  this  taking  place  in  the  recon 
structed  Union,  would  have  run  the  risk  of  being  stoned  to  death. 
The  States  loyal  to  the  Union  cause  still  trembled  under  the  terrible 
blow  dealt  by  Johnston  and  Beauregard  but  a  few  weeks  before,  on  the 
banks  of  Bull  Run.  Their  first  illusions  had  been  rudely  dissipated; 
but  no  one  then  realized  the  magnitude  of  the  conflict  that  was  to 
ensue,  nor  the  sacrifices  that  must  be  made  to  secure  victory.  Only 
a  few  old  officers  of  the  regular  army,  like  McClellan,  appreciated  the 
determination  and  endurance  of  those  who  were  looked  on  only 
as  rebels.  Indeed,  I  shall  surprise  no  citizen  of  the  United  States 
who  had  attained  manhood  at  the  breaking  out  of  the  civil  war,  in 
affirming  that  the  North  and  the  South,  although  united  by  the 
common  bonds  of  blood,  history,  and  political  life,  were  yet  strangers 
to  each  other.  Singular  fatality !  a  bloody  duel  was  inevitable  be 
fore  these  two  factions  of  the  people  should  become  acquainted. 
The  North,  finding  itself  commercially  related  to  the  whole  world, 
feeling  the  rapid  growth  of  its  material  resources,  and  understanding 

*  Copyright  by  T.  H.  S.  Hamersly,  1887.  This  article  appears  by  arrangement  with  Mr. 
Hamersly,  of  The  United  Service  Magazine,  where  it  will  also  appear,  with  additions  for 
which  we  have  not  room. 


74  GENERAL  MCCLELLAN. 

that  the  power  of  the  United  States  depended  on  "  the  Union,"  sin 
cerely  believed  that  the  South,  too,  shared  its  almost  religious  vene 
ration  for  the  federal  compact.  Democrats  and  Republicans  alike 
believed  their  brothers  of  the  South  to  be  incapable  of  an  attempt 
to  destroy  it.  The  Southerners,  on  their  part,  separated  from  the 
men  of  the  North  by  that  social  abyss,  the  institution  of  slavery,  and 
meeting  them  only  at  Washington — in  other  words,  only  on  the  field 
of  political  conflict — accepted  seriously  the  caricature  of  "  the  Yan 
kee,"  as  depicted  in  the  comic  journals  of  the  period  ;  they  thought 
him  incapable  of  leaving  his  counting-room,  or  of  sacrificing  his 
money,  his  time,  and  his  life  in  the  service  of  a  national  cause.  The 
old  West  Pointers,  almost  alone  of  all,  knew  each  other  well. 

No  one  has  denied  that  McClellan  was  a  marvellous  organizer. 
Every  veteran  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  will  be  able  to  recall  that 
extraordinary  time,  when  the  people  of  the  North  devoting  all  its 
native  energy  and  spirit  of  initiative  to  the  raising  of  enormous 
levies  of  future  combatants,  and  to  their  military  equipment,  batta 
lions,  squadrons  of  cavalry  and  batteries  of  artillery,  sprung,  as  it 
were,  from  the  earth  in  a  night,  poured  in  from  all  sides  upon  the 
barren  wastes  of  vacant  building-lots  that  then  went  to  the  making 
up  of  fully  three-quarters  of  the  federal  capital. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  herculean  task  of  organization  that 
two  French  aides-de-camp  were  assigned  to  duty  as  military  attache's 
on  McClellan's  staff.  His  brilliant  operations  in  Western  Virginia 
against  Lee — who  had  not  yet  revealed  the  full  extent  of  his  military 
genius,  and  whom  McClellan  was  destined  to  find  again  in  his  front 
but  a  year  later — the  successes  of  Laurel  Hill  and  Rich  Mountain, 
gave  evidence  of  what  might  be  expected  of  the  inexperienced  troops 
placed  in  McClellan's  hands.  He  had  already  shown  rare  strategic 
ability,  and  the  President  had  confided  to  him  the  task  of  creating 
the  Army  of  the  Potomac  from  the  disorganized  bands  who  had 
fallen  back  on  Washington  under  the  brave  and  unfortunate  McDow 
ell.  Surrounded  for  the  most  part  by  young  officers,  he  was  himself 
the  most  youthful  of  us  all,  n9t  only  by  reason  of  his  physical  vigor, 
the  vivacity  of  his  impressions,  the  noble  candor  of  his  character, 
and  his  glowing  patriotism,  but,  I  may  even  add,  by  his  inexperience 
of  men.  His  military  bearing  breathed  a  spirit  of  frankness,  bene 
volence,  and  firmness.  His  look  was  piercing,  his  voice  gentle ;  the 
word  of  command  clear  and  definite,  his  temper  equable.  His  en 
couragement  was  almost  affectionate,  his  reprimand  couched  in  terms 


GENERAL  MCCLELLAN.  75 

of  perfect  politeness.  Discreet,  as  a  military  or  political  chief  should 
be,  he  was  slow  in  bestowing  his  confidence ;  but,  once  given,  it  was 
never  withdrawn.  Himself  perfectly  loyal  to  his  friends,  he  knew 
how  to  inspire  others  with  an  absolute  devotion. 

Unfortunately  for  him,  McClellan  succeeded  too  quickly  and  too 
soon  to  the  command  of  the  principal  army  of  the  republic.  His 
lieutenants  were  as  new  to  the  work  as  he — they  had  not  been  tested. 
Public  opinion  in  the  army  itself — a  judge  all  the  more  relentless  for 
the  very  reason  that  discipline  gives  it  no  opportunity  to  express 
itself — had  as  yet  been  able  neither  to  pronounce  on  them,  nor  to 
ratify  the  preferences  of  the  general-in-chief.  Paradoxical  as  it  may 
seem,  would  it  not  really  have  been  better  could  McClellan  have 
received  a  check  at  first,  as  Grant  did  at  Belmont,  rather  than  to 
have  begun  with  the  brilliant  campaign  in  West  Virginia  which  won 
for  him  the  sobriquet  of  "The  Young  Napoleon  "  ?  Just  at  the  time 
when  I  joined  his  staff  the  exacting  confidence  of  the  people  and 
the  Government  was  laying  on  him  an  almost  superhuman  task.  In 
forging  the  puissant  weapon  which,  later,  snatched  from  his  grasp, 
was  destined,  in  the  hands  of  the  Great  Hammerer,  to  bray  the  army 
of  Lee,  he  acquired  an  imperishable  title  to  the  gratitude  of  his 
compatriots.  He  wrought,  will  it  be  said,  for  the  glory  of  his  suc 
cessors?  No  !  He  labored  for  his  country,  even  as  the  private  sol 
dier  who  dies  for  her,  with  no  thought  of  fame.  In  order  to  give  to 
his  weapon  every  perfection,  he  soon  learned  to  resist  the  impa 
tient  solicitations  of  both  the  people  and  the  Government. 

At  the  end  of  September,  1861,  McClellan,  yet  under  the  orders 
of  General  Scott,  represented  the  ardent  and  impatient  spirit  of  men 
chafing  at  the  slowness  of  a  chief  whose  faculties  had  been  chilled  by 
the  infirmities  of  age.  Nevertheless,  his  first  care  was  to  place  the 
capital  beyond  all  peradventure  of  being  carried  by  sudden  attack ; 
on  the  one  hand,  for  the  sake  of  reassuring  the  inhabitants  and  the 
political  organism  within  its  limits ;  and,  on  the  other,  that  the  army 
might  be  at  liberty  to  act  independently  when  it  should  be  called  to 
the  field,  leaving  a  sufficient  garrison  only  to  secure  the  defence  of 
the  city.  He  knew  that  an  army  tied  up  about  a  place  it  has  to  pro 
tect  is  virtually  paralyzed.  The  events  of  1870  have  only  too  fully 
confirmed  this  view.  An  engineer  of  distinction,  McClellan  himself 
devised  in  all  its  details  the  system  of  defensive  works  from  Alex 
andria  to  Georgetown.  He  gave  his  daily  personal  supervision  to 
the  execution  of  this  work,  alternating  out-door  activity  with  office 


76  GENERAL  MCCLELLAN. 

business.  Tireless  in  the  saddle,  he  was  equally  indefatigable  with 
the  pen.  Possessed  of  a  methodical  and  exact  mind,  he  compre 
hended  the  organization  of  his  army  in  every  minute  detail.  The 
creation  of  all  the  material  of  war  necessary  to  its  existence  and 
action  was  extraordinary  proof  of  the  wonderful  readiness  of  the 
Americans  in  an  emergency.  Hordes  of  politicians  "  put  in  an  ap 
pearance"  at  headquarters,  in  the  guise  of  friends,  advisers,  or  to 
ask  favors. 

McClellan,  though  enrolled  openly  as  one  of  the  Democratic 
party,  had  not  till  now  allowed  his  adherents  to  compromise  him  in 
any  way,  and  found  himself,  ex  officio^  in  close  personal  relations 
with  a  large  number  of  Republican  leaders.  I  do  not  remember, 
however,  to  have  met  in  his  company  my  illustrious  and  excellent 
friend,  Charles  Sumner.  Of  all  his  associates,  the  most  benevolent, 
the  most  modest  in  bearing,  was  he  whom  history  will  celebrate 
above  the  rest,  Abraham  Lincoln ;  "  honest  old  Abe,"  as  the  soldiers 
affectionately  called  him.  Can  I  ever  forget  those  evenings  when, 
restless  and  preoccupied  with  expectation  of  important  news,  Lin 
coln  would  walk  over  from  the  White  House,  and,  not  finding  the 
general,  perhaps,  would  sit  among  us  pleasantly  with  his  never-fail 
ing  good-humor,  and  tell  one  of  those  characteristic  stories  he  knew 
so  well  how  to  barb  with  clever  irony  ! 

But  the  season  advanced.  The  army  was  being  formed.  At  the 
end  of  September  the  enemy  had  fallen  back  on  Fairfax  Court- 
House,  bequeathing  to  us  at  Munson's  Hill  a  few  Quaker  guns  of 
logs  and  pasteboard.  The  time  for  action  seemed  to  have  come. 
The  rigors  of  winter  in  Virginia  hardly  make  themselves  felt  before 
the  beginning  of  December.  By  the  i/th  of  October  the  enemy  had 
again  retreated.  The  Army  of  the  Potomac  replied  with  a  commen 
surate  advance.  But  this  was  a  faux  pas.  The  blunder  was  con 
summated  at  Ball's  Bluff.  McClellan's  orders  had  been  given  in 
entire  ignorance  of  the  topography  of  the  environs  of  Edward's 
Ferry  (all  the  maps  being  inexact)  and  of  the  force  of  the  enemy  in 
front  of  Leesburg.  In  fact,  at  that  time  the  organization  of  the 
secret  service  was  entirely  insufficient  to  the  occasion,  in  spite  of 
the  praiseworthy  efforts  of  Mr.  Allan  Pinkerton.  McClellan  had 
established  McCall's  division  beyond  Drainesville,  and  believed  it 
to  be  within  supporting  distance  of  Baker's  brigade.  The  latter 
had  been  crushed  on  the  2ist,  before  any  one  on  the  left  bank 
of  the  Potomac  knew  of  his  fate.  This  disaster,  unimportant 


GENERAL  McCLELLAN.  77 

of  itself,  led  to  the  most  acrimonious  recrimination.  It  proved, 
above  all,  how  slight  and  imperfect  were  the  connections  be 
tween  the  head  of  the  army  and  the  parts  he  was  called  on  to 
manoeuvre.  On  that  day  a  fatal  hesitation  took  possession  of 
McClellan.  If  he  did  not  then  decide  to  postpone  the  campaign 
till  the  following  spring,  his  conduct  of  affairs  was  such  as  soon  to 
leave  him  no  alternative  except  recourse  to  this  lamentable  necessity. 
Shortly  thereafter  a  great  change  came  over  the  military  situation : 
a  change  which  should  have  encouraged  him  to  the  promptest  offen 
sive  action,  but  which,  unfortunately  for  him,  produced  only  a  di 
rectly  contrary  result. 

On  the  evening  of  November  ist  the  whole  political  world  of 
Washington  was  in  a  flutter  of  agitation.  It  labored  still  under  the 
effects  of  the  displacement  of  General  Fremont,  guilty  of  having  in 
truded  upon  political  ground  by  the  issue  of  an  abolitionist  procla 
mation.  The  disgrace  of  "  The  Pathfinder,"  so  popular  with  the 
Western  Republicans,  had  caused  some  friction  in  Congress,  and 
provoked  rejoicing  among  the  numerous  political  enemies  he  counted 
in  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  when  it  was  learned  that  a  measure  of 
still  graver  importance  had  been  forced  on  the  Government.  For 
some  hours  it  had  been  known  at  headquarters  that  Scott  had  re 
signed  his  commission  as  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  federal  armies. 
McClellan  would  naturally  have  been  designated  his  successor.  Of 
great  stature  and  a  martial  figure,  the  conqueror  of  Mexico  joined 
to  his  physical  advantages  rare  military  and  diplomatic  attainments. 
He  had  known  how  to  conquer  Mexico  without  suffering  a  check ; 
he  had  been  able  to  establish  a  government  that  would  warrant 
evacuation  of  the  country,  capable  of  maintaining  itself  without  ex 
traneous  assistance,  and  he  had  secured  a  treaty  with  leonine  condi 
tions  for  the  Americans.  But  age  had  attacked  him  physically  and 
mentally.  Obese  and  impotent,  the  brilliant  Scott  was,  in  1861,  but 
the  shadow  of  his  former  self.  While  recognizing  the  services  he 
had  rendered  to  the  republic  at  the  explosion  of  the  civil  war,  by 
fidelity  to  the  Stars  and  Stripes  in  spite  of  his  Virginian  origin,  the 
young  generals  reproached  him  with  paralyzing  their  ardor  and  inter 
fering  with  their  projects.  The  President  and  his  Secretary  of  State, 
Mr.  Seward,  who,  through  political  habitude,  was  also  a  temporizer, 
regretted  the  resignation  of  Scott,  and  augured  ill  of  the  youth  and 
rashness  of  McClellan.  The  latter,  on  the  other  hand,  seemed  to 
imagine  that  the  withdrawal  of  the  old  warrior  removed  the  last  re- 


78  GENERAL  McCLELLAN. 

maining  obstacle  which  opposed  the  realization  of  his  vast  strategic 
conceptions.  But,  as  is  not  seldom  the  case  in  the  course  of  human 
events,  both  these  expectations  were  equally  mistaken.  In  brief, 
McClellan,  once  invested  with  supreme  command,  proved  himself 
more  of  a  temporizer  than  his  predecessor,  and,  as  will  soon  be  seen, 
his  premature  promotion  to  this  post  was  the  cause  of  all  his  subse 
quent  mortification  and  misfortune. 

The  day  after  (November  2d)  we  were  at  his  side,  mounted,  and, 
at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  on  duty  to  accompany  to  the  railway 
station  him  whose  place  McClellan  was  about  to  occupy.  As  we 
went  along  every  one  chatted  about  the  matter,  and  sought  to  pene 
trate  the  future  and  to  divine  the  fortunes  and  role  of  the  young 
general  in  the  terrible  crisis  through  which  the  republic  was'passing. 
It  would  have  been  easier  to  pierce  the  night  and  fog  which  enve 
loped  us.  An  hour  later  McClellan  was  at  his  office.  A  new  task  of 
enormous  proportions,  whose  difficulty  he  had  not,  perhaps,  paused 
to  contemplate,  stared  him  in  the  face,  and  threatened  him  with  de 
struction.  Without  giving  him  the  full  rank  enjoyed  by  Scott,  the 
President  had  given  him  full  command  of  the  armies  of  the  repub 
lic.  It  should  be  said  that  he  had  the  right  to  this  position  as 
the  oldest  major-general  of  the  regular  army.  In  assuming  his  new 
function  he  did  not  give  up  his  own  personal  and  particular  direc 
tion  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac.  Here  he  was  right  ;  for  he  could 
neither  have  found  any  one  to  whom  he  might  safely  confide  his  own 
proper  work  of  organization,  nor  could  he  have  left  the  command  of 
the  first  army  of  the  republic  without  condemning  himself  to  per 
petual  prison  in  the  bureau  at  Washington. 

It  must  be  admitted,  however,  that  his  two  functions  were  in 
compatible.  As  an  old  French  proverb  has  it,  "  Qui  trop  embrasse, 
mal  etreint"  When,  two  years  later,  Grant  himself  undertook  to 
conduct  the  decisive  campaign  against  Richmond,  at  the  same 
time  continuing  to  direct  in  chief  all  the  armies  of  the  State, 
not  only  was  he  surrounded  by  the  aureole  of  his  splendid  vic 
tories  and  incontestable  military  authority,  not  only  had  a  cruel 
experience  proved  to  the  people  the  necessity  for  concentrating 
the  military  power  in  the  hands  of  one  man,  but  the  different 
armies  Grant  controlled  were  now  confided  to  approved  chiefs 
whom  he  could  trust  with  perfect  liberty  of  action,  while,  in  case 
of  need,  he  might  leave  at  the  head  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac 
the  conqueror  of  Gettysburg.  In  Washington,  Halleck  presided  as 


GENERAL  MCCLELLAN.  79 

Chief  of  Staff,  reduced  by  Grant  to  a  subordinate  function,  it  is  true, 
but  a  function  which  he  possessed  special  aptitude  to  fill.  The  situ 
ation  of  McClellan  was  different.  He  perceived  this  on  the  day 
when,  entering  on  the  campaign,  he  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac.  At  first  he  was  equal  to  the  emergency  by 
dint  of  incessant  work ;  but  he  was  obliged  to  renounce  the  daily 
routine  which  had  served  to  maintain  his  relations  with  all  his 
divisions,  and  had  contributed  to  facilitate  and  hasten  forward  his 
schemes  of  organization.  McClellan,  confined  to  his  office,  under 
took  the  orderly  and  methodical  concentration  of  the  immense  num 
ber  of  men  enrolled  in  the  service  of  the  republic,  in  the  formation 
of  his  armies,  and  in  constructing  a  scheme  for  their  concerted 
action.  General  Halleck,  but  just  then  arrived  in  Washington,  was 
sent  to  the  West  with  extensive  powers.  McClellan  assigned  to  him 
one  of  his  best  lieutenants,  General  Buell.  Finally,  he  prepared  the 
great  naval  expeditions  which  should  give  to  the  federal  arms  Port 
Royal,  Roanoke,  and  New  Orleans.  Scarcely  had  he  begun  the  work 
when  the  fact  was  borne  in  on  him  that  the  armies  of  the  West  were, 
as  regarded  materials,  less  well  prepared  for  the  offensive  than  those 
of  the  East,  and  as  it  seemed  requisite  that  they  should  act  together, 
it  may  be  inferred  that  from  the  first  days  of  his  assuming  command, 
the  scheme  of  postponing  till  spring  the  operations  of  the  Army  of 
the  Potomac  was  explicitly  determined  on.  McClellan  ought  to 
have,  and  did,  conceal  from  every  one  this  resolution,  the  objections 
to  which  he  understood  better  than  any  one.  But  his  soldiers  were 
not  slow  to  comprehend  ;  often  the  crowd  has  sagacious  instincts, 
and  may  divine  the  calculations  of  even  the  most  wary  statesman. 
The  army  proved  it  in  this  case  by  constructing,  with  all  the  ready 
skill  of  American  backwoodsmen,  log-huts  to  protect  them  from  the 
inclemencies  of  the  season.  They  did  well.  When  the  snow  and 
ice  rendered  military  operations  impossible,  veritable  pioneers'  vil 
lages  had  grown  up  everywhere  in  the  midst  of  the  timber,  and  af 
forded  the  soldiers  excellent  shelter.  The  army  had  coolly  taken  the 
liberty  of  going  into  winter  quarters,  without  consulting  anybody. 

The  complications  of  foreign  politics  contributed  their  share  to 
restrain  McClellan,  at  a  period  when  the  season  would  yet  have  per 
mitted  him  to  act  on  the  offensive.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  the 
1 6th  of  November  when  the  news  reached  Washington  of  the  inci 
dent  afterwards  known  as  the  Trent  affair.  .  .  .  The  capture  of 
the  Confederate  Commissioners  on  the  high  seas  under  a  neutral  flag, 


8O  GENERAL  MCCLELLAN. 

in  flagrant  violation  of  the  law  of  nations — a  violation  brutal  in  its 
method  and  useless  in  its  results,  most  dangerous  in  its  conse 
quences — was  hailed  by  public  opinion  as  a  splendid  victory  for  the 
Stars  and  Stripes.  But  this  should  cause  no  surprise.  These  ill-con 
sidered  enthusiasms  are  inevitable  under  our  modern  conditions  of 
society,  where  a  blatant  press,  like  a  brazen  gong,  re-echoes  and 
multiplies  ad  infinitum  the  beating  of  every  heart,  without  giving 
time  for  sober  second  thought  to  correct  weak  yielding  to  first  im 
pressions.  Only  the  chosen  few  are  capable  of  resisting  these  first 
impulses,  and  have  the  self-control  necessary  to  calculate  the  conse 
quences  of  events  without  allowing  themselves  to  be  carried  away 
by  the  tempest  of  public  outcry.  Two  men  at  Washington  com 
prehended  from  the  first  the  danger  to  their  country  of  the  incon 
siderate  act  of  Wilkes.  These  were  Seward  and  McClellan.  The 
former,  burdened  with  an  immense  responsibility,  patriotically  dis 
simulated  his  opinion  with  extraordinary  finesse ;  he  permitted  the 
excitement  to  spend  itself,  and,  thanks  to  the  slowness  of  communi 
cation  with  England,  gained  time  enough  to  extricate  his  Govern 
ment  at  the  critical  juncture,  by  enveloping  the  decision  he  had  suc 
ceeded  in  extorting  from  "  the  powers  that  be  "  in  a  specious  web 
of  plausibilities,  calculated  to  .sweeten  the  bitterness  caused  at 
home  by  England's  exactions,  and  at  the  same  time  to  satisfy  her 
just  demands.  He  succeeded  in  sparing  his  country  and  the  world 
the  horrors  of  a  war,  the  results  of  which  could  hardly  be  imagined. 

Mr.  Lincoln,  who  did  not  anticipate  a  war,  compared  the  two 
nations  to  "  two  fierce  dogs  confined  in  neighboring  back-yards,  and 
continually  growling  at  each  other  through  the  fence.  Once  let  them 
find  a  chink  in  the  boards,  they  glare  through  it  with  rolling  eyes  and 
gleaming  incisors,  till  one  would  suppose  they  wished  to  swallow 
each  other.  By  no  means !  Brought  face  to  face,  they  suddenly  put 
on  a  look  of  unconscious  astonishment,  and  each  one  beats  a  hasty 
retreat  with  his  tail  between  his  legs.  But  care  must  be  taken  that 
the  two  adversaries  do  not  injure  each  other  through  some  opening, 
a  Fimproviste ;  for  the  teeth  once  in  it  would  be  impossible  to  sepa 
rate  them." 

It  was  not  for  McClellan  to  implicate  himself  in  questions  of 
a  purely  political  character,  but  he  probably  foresaw  the  conse 
quences  of  a  war  which  he  perceived  in  the  distance.  It  was  a 
question  of  England,  mistress  of  the  seas,  inundating  the  Southern 
States  with  arms  and  munitions  of  war,  with  money  and  volunteers, 


GENERAL  McCLELLAN.  8 1 

blockading  the  federal  ports,  and  in  the  spring  making  Canada  the 
base  of  operations  for  her  regular  army.  The  States  of  the  North 
would  have  found  themselves  hemmed  in  along  a  vast  line  of  bound 
ary  by  two  hostile  powers,  extending  from  the  Atlantic  to  the 
Pacific.  McClellan's  care,  in  view  of  such  an  emergency,  was  to 
perfect  and  strengthen  his  army ;  but,  above  all,  not  to  compromise 
the  safety  of  his  forces  by  any  attempt  at  operations  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Potomac.  Grand  reviews  established,  to  the  satisfaction 
of  the  inexperienced,  the  fact  of  progress  in  the  equipment,  instruc 
tion,  and  drill  of  the  troops.  At  Bailey's  Cross-roads  might  have 
been  seen  a  rendezvous  of  50,000  men,  with  all  the  paraphernalia 
of  a  campaign,  a  large  number  of  cavalry,  and  a  formidable  array 
of  artillery.  No  such  spectacle  had  ever  been  seen  in  the  United 
States  ,  the  novelty  of  the  display  caused  the  liveliest  interest 
among  the  inhabitants  of  Washington.  But  for  a  European,  not 
the  least  curious  part  of  the  pageant  was  the  President,  with  his 
entire  Cabinet,  in  citizens'  dress,  boldly  caracoling  at  the  head  of  a 
brilliant  military  cortege,  and  riding  down  the  long  lines  of  troops  to 
the  rattle  of  drums,  the  flourish  of  trumpets,  and  the  loud  huzzas 
of  the  whole  army.  While  his  aides-de-camp  were  engaged  in  the 
field,  McClellan  worked  ceaselessly  with  the  Secretaries  of  War  and 
Navy,  Simon  Cameron  and  Gideon  Welles,  preparing  great  expedi 
tions,  half  military  and  half  naval,  that  should  plant  the  national 
flag  on  the  principal  points  of  the  enemy's  coast,  and  secure  con 
venient  bases  for  future  operations.  The  success  won  at  Port  Royal 
encouraged  the  Federal  Government  in  these  projects,  while  Mc 
Clellan  himself  had  brought  back  from  the  Crimea  a  personal  ex 
perience  which  enabled  him,  better  than  any  one  else,  to  preside 
over  the  details  of  preparation. 

Mr.  Seward,  having  courageously  ended  the  Trent  affair  to  the 
satisfaction  of  the  public,  now  recovered  from  its  first  attack  of  folly, 
the  only  obstacle  to  be  feared — the  danger  of  a  maritime  war — was 
finally  removed.  The  troops  destined  for  the  attack  on  New  Orleans 
were  sent  to  Ship  Island  in  detail.  Burnside  embarked  at  New 
York,  during  the  early  days  of  1862,  with  the  little  army  that  should 
seize  Roanoke,  and  march  on  the  interior  of  North  Carolina.  But  an 
unusually  severe  winter  had  supervened  pending  the  Trent  business. 
While  the  naval  expeditions  intended  to  land  troops  on  the  coasts 
of  the  Southern  States  might  still  have  been  fitted  out,  though  the 
severe  gales  of  the  season  would  have  subjected  them  to  serious 
6 


82  GENERAL  McCLELLAN. 

danger,  deep  snows  and  intense  cold  made  movements  on  the  part 
of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  next  to  impossible.  Even  had  it  been 
desirable  to  expose  raw  troops  to  the  rigors  of  a  winter  campaign, 
it  would  have  been  impracticable  to  provision  an  advancing  army, 
on  account  of  the  impassable  condition  of  the  roads.  This  set  Mc- 
Clellan,  as  well  as  many  of  his  subordinates,  to  thinking  of  transpor 
tation  by  water,  down  the  Western  rivers,  or  through  the  deep 
estuaries  of  Eastern  Virginia. 

One  day,  I  think  it  was  the  2Oth  of  December,  General  McClellan, 
ordinarily  so  assiduous,  did  not  appear  at  headquarters.  The  next 
day  it  was  learned  that  he  was  ill.  Three  days  later  his  life  was  in 
danger.  Exhausted  with  work,  his  robust  physique  was  seized  with  a 
typhoid  of  the  most  serious  type.  .  .  .  His  absence  paralyzed  work 
at  headquarters.  He  had  not  regularly  delegated  his  powers.  His 
father-in-law  and  Chief  of  Staff,  General  Marcy,  did  not  dare  to  act 
definitively  in  his  name.  He  was  under  the  disadvantage  of  not 
having  created  a  general  field  staff  service,  with  duly  appointed  Chief 
of  Staff.  This  might  have  aided  him  in  securing  a  consistent  en 
semble  of  military  operations.  .  .  .  On  his  return  to  the  duties 
of  his  office,  he  realized  that  during  his  absence  many  important 
changes  had  taken  place.  Since  the  I3th  of  January,  Mr.  Cameron 
had  been  replaced  by  Mr.  Stanton,  a  celebrated  lawyer,  who  was 
spoken  of  as  one  of  the  coming  men  of  the  Democratic  party. 
McClellan,  who  knew  and  appreciated  him,  had,  before  his  illness, 
contributed  materially  to  Stanton's  nomination  by  recommending 
him  earnestly  to  the  President.  But  he  was  not  slow  to  regret  this. 
Mr.  Stanton,  endowed  with  a  remarkable  faculty  for  work,  rendered 
incontestable  service  in  the  organization  of  the  armies ;  but,  afraid 
of  the  growing  importance  of  those  who  commanded  them,  and 
wishing  to  impose  his  authority,  he  was  instrumental,  more  than  any 
one  else,  in  developing  in  Mr.  Lincoln's  mind  the  idea  of  directing 
military  operations  in  person,  from  the  depths  of  the  White  House 
itself — a  fatal  idea,  of  which  the  disastrous  consequence  was  the  utter 
defeat  of  the  federal  armies  in  Virginia  during  the  summer  of  1862. 
The  personal  intervention  of  the  President,  provoked  by  the  incon 
siderate  impatience  of  the  public  and  the  precipitate  solicitation  of 
McClellan's  political  adversaries,  first  declared  itself  in  a  singular 
order,  kept  a  secret  at  the  time,  but  given  to  the  press  on  the  day  it 
was  intended  the  blow  should  be  struck.  This  order,  dated  the  2/th 
of  January,  directed  all  the  armies  of  the  republic  to  take  the  field 


GENERAL  MCCLELLAN.  83 

on  the  same  day,  that  is,  on  the  22d  of  February,  in  honor  of  Wash 
ington's  birthday !  In  the  West  everything  was  in  readiness.  The 
rivers  were  open.  But  the  order  of  the  President  was  not  necessary 
to  warrant  Grant,  already  under  orders  from  McClellan,  in  beginning 
the  campaign,  and  Grant  anticipated  that  order.  His  debut  was  as 
a  lightning  stroke.  His  victory  at  Fort  Donelson,  followed  by  the 
capitulation  of  15,000  Confederates,  was  the  revenge  for  Bull  Run. 
The  impression  created  throughout  the  whole  army  was  profound. 
The  federal  volunteers  took  heart  again.  The  confidence  of  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac  was  redoubled.  The  general  was  now  restored 
to  health.  The  weather  had  moderated.  The  time  had  at  last  come 
for  this  army  to  act.  .  .  .  But  the  immense  flotilla  which  should 
transport  it  to  Urbanna,  or  to  Fortress  Monroe,  another  point  of  de 
barkation  equally  considered  with  the  other,  was  not  yet  ready,  and 
no  one  more  than  McClellan  regretted  the  delay.  It  is  well  known 
that  he  was  obliged  to  fight  many  objections  in  order  to  secure 
the  adoption  of  his  favorite  plan.  He  was  obliged  to  exhibit  the 
details  of  his  projects  before  numerous  councils  of  war,  some  of 
them  political  and  some  of  them  military,  some  of  the  members  of 
which  were,  perhaps,  not  possessed  of  absolute  discretion.  He  was 
obliged  to  reassure  and  convince  all  those  who  feared  lest  Wash 
ington  should  be  left  without  sufficient  protection.  He  finally 
obtained  the  Government's  approval. 

At  the  very  moment  when  all  seemed  ready  for  the  realization  of 
his  grand  design,  two  unforeseen  circumstances  arose  to  thwart  the 
calculations  of  McClellan.  The  first  was  the  sudden  evacuation  of 
Manassas  by  the  Confederates.  I  do  not  believe  that  this  could  be 
attributed  to  indiscretions  following  the  councils  of  war  at  Wash 
ington.  I  prefer,  rather,  to  ascribe  it  to  the  military  sagacity  of  the 
great  warrior  who  then  commanded  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia. 
His  positions  at  Manassas  were  only  protected  by  the  snow  and  ice 
which  paralyzed  the  Federals.  With  the  opening  of  the  season  he 
would  be  obliged  to  withdraw  behind  the  Rappahannock.  This 
movement  brought  the  Southern  Army  nearer  to  Richmond,  at  the 
same  time  placing  it  on  the  Urbanna  route,  thus  making  a  landing 
there  impossible  for  us,  and  permitting  Lee  to  anticipate  McClellan 
on  the  Virginia  peninsula.  The  latter  would  not  give  up  his  plan. 
Fortress  Monroe,  occupied  by  the  Federals,  was  chosen  as  the  new 
point  of  debarkation,  and  the  pursuit  of  the  enemy  on  the  road  from 
Manassas  to  Fredericksburg  had  no  other  object  than  to  deceive  him 


84  GENERAL  MCCLELLAN. 

as  to  the  intentions  of  the  Federals.  The  army,  after  having  feigned 
pursuit,  was  ordered  to  concentrate  near  Alexandria,  the  rendezvous 
of  the  grand  flotilla  which  McClellan  awaited  with  so  much  im 
patience. 

But  on  the  1 3th  of  March  another  unexpected  event  again  caused 
consternation  among  the  officers  of  the  staff.  The  indefatigable 
news-dealers,  who  followed  the  army  almost  to  the  very  line  of 
battle,  had  brought  papers  from  Washington,  in  which  we  read  a 
decree  of  the  President  relieving  McClellan  from  the  direction  in 
chief  of  the  armies  of  the  United  States.  Mr.  Lincoln  gave  to  the 
public  his  order  of  January  2/th,  the  pretext  being  that  McClellan 
had  not  taken  the  field  on  the  appointed  22d  of  February,  as  had 
been  explicitly  directed.  It  was  recalled  to  mind  that  on  this  very 
day,  McClellan,  on  going  upon  the  floor  of  the  House  of  Repre 
sentatives,  had  been  greeted  by  a  triple  salvo  of  applause,  a  de 
monstration  flattering  enough,  but  damaging  to  a  general,  whose 
functions  forbid  even  the  suspicion  of  political  partisanship.  The 
measure  in  question  was  inept,  since  it  virtually  restricted  McClel 
lan  within  a  line  of  operations,  excluding  West  Virginia,  then  as 
signed  to  Fremont.  The  measure  was  especially  disastrous  in  sup 
pressing  all  general  direction  of  military  operations  and  disintegrat 
ing  the  ensemble.  Scott  had  been  decided  to  be  too  superannuated 
to  attend  to  this  general  direction.  It  was  not  for  the  purpose  of 
abolishing  it  entirely  that  command  had  been  confided  to  younger 
and  more  energetic  hands.  Unfortunately,  at  this  moment  Mr.  Lin 
coln  had  the  weakness  to  think  that  he  himself  could  effectively 
exercise  the  supreme  control,  assigned  him  in  form,  it  is  true,  by 
a  figment  of  the  national  Constitution.  As  for  McClellan,  the  Presi 
dent's  decision  was  mortifying  in  its  method,  Lincoln  having  delayed 
its  promulgation  till  after  the  departure  of  his  general,  and  having 
left  it  to  be  communicated  to  the  latter  by  the  daily  papers.  Yet 
McClellan  would  have  consoled  himself,  had  not  this  measure  been 
followed  by  others  still  more  harassing,  and  of  a  nature  to  completely 
cripple  intelligent  action.  But  he  was  relieved  of  an  immense 
responsibility ;  he  was  left  at  the  head  of  an  army  eager  to  follow 
his  lead,  eager  for  battle,  and  confident  of  victory  under  his  orders. 
He  alone  seemed  to  preserve  his  sang-froid  in  the  midst  of  officers 
of  all  grades  who  flocked  to  his  headquarters  at  Fairfax  Court-House 
as  the  news  spread  rapidly  from  camp-fire  to  camp-fire.  Among 
these  officers  were  stanch  supporters,  secret  foes,  those  jealous  of 


GENERAL  MCCLELLAN.  85 

his  fame,  would-be  worshipers  of  the  rising  sun,  and,  last  but  not 
least,  indiscreet  and  compromising  friends.  In  this  evil  hour  Me- 
Clellan  felt  how  sternly  patriotic  duty  demanded  of  him  that  he 
should  hide  the  mortification  he  felt  at  this  cruel  wound  to  his  feel 
ings  as  an  officer  and  a  man.  He  sought  for  consolation  only  in  the 
sympathy  and  confidence  of  his  soldiers.  .  .  . 

After  the  Peninsular  campaign,  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  might, 
with  proper  reinforcements,  have  regained  the  advantages  it  had 
lost,  and  have  profited  by  the  great  sacrifices  already  made.  The 
James  might  have  been  crossed  at  Harrison's  Landing,  Richmond 
might  have  been  approached  from  the  South.  The  course  of  subse 
quent  events  proves  how  accurate  had  been  McClellan's  forethought 
and  judgment  in  determining  the  original  plan  of  this  campaign. 
Two  years  later,  Grant,  in  spite  of  whatever  may  be  said,  was  forced 
to  adopt  the  very  same  plan — after  having  sacrificed  60,000  men  to 
the  fire  of  the  enemy — in  order  to  reach  the  same  bank  of  the 
James  !  This  it  was  that  secured  his  final  victory.  But  he  who 
lays  the  foundations  is  rarely  permitted  to  crown  the  work. 

At  this  point  I  must  stop.  Matters  of  grave  political  import, 
and  family  affairs,  not  to  be  postponed,  obliged  the  Due  de  Chartres 
and  myself  to  take  advantage  of  the  permission  of  the  President  to 
resign  our  posts,  which  had  been  provisionally  accepted  when  the 
ranks  of  the  Federal  Army  were  generously  opened  to  us.  We 
were  forced  to  part  with  McClellan  at  Haxall's  Landing.  The  regret 
he  expressed,  the  letter  in  which  his  Chief  of  Staff  and  the  Secretary 
of  State,  in  accepting  our  resignations,  were  pleased  to  acknowledge 
our  services,  were  an  inestimable  recompense  for  the  zeal  with 
which  we  had  endeavored  to  fulfil  our  allotted  task.  The  most  pre 
cious  possession  we  brought  back  with  us  to  the  shores  of  the  Old 
World  was  the  friendship  of  so  many  gallant  soldiers  whose  labors 
we  had  the  honor  to  share — but  above  all  must  we  estimate  the 
friendship  of  their  honored  chief,  whose  death  fills  us  with  heartfelt 
grief. 

Long  afterwards  I  was  happy  in  being  able  to  meet  General 
McClellan  once  again,  and  to  receive  him  and  his  family  in  my  own 
house  and  on  my  native  soil.  I  shall  ever  cherish  the  recollection 
of  our  many  interviews  and  chats  over  the  later  brilliant  campaign 
in  which  it  was  not  my  good-fortune  to  be  of  his  military  family, 
and  which  was  so  inopportunely  interrupted  by  his  removal.  He 


86  GENERAL  McCLELLAN. 

spoke  with  rare  forbearance  of  the  disgrace  put  upon  him  by  the 
successive  withdrawal  of  his  best  troops  to  be  placed  under  the 
orders  of  an  incapable  general  at  Manassas ;  of  the  recognition  and 
homage  to  his  attainments  and  superior  military  ability  forced  on 
Mr.  Lincoln  by  public  opinion  at  a  time  of  great  peril.  After  the 
lapse  of  twenty  years,  these  reminiscences  brought  the  old  youthful 
fire  to  his  eye  and  cheek.  He  burned  with  enthusiasm  at  the  recol 
lection  of  his  fifteen  days'  campaign  in  Maryland,  begun  with  a  de 
moralized  army,  and  ended  by  the  forced  retreat  of  Lee  to  the  other 
side  of  the  Potomac.  But  a  profound  sadness  came  over  him  when 
he  spoke  of  the  fatal  day  when  an  order  of  the  President  struck  a 
brutal  blow  at  the  victor  of  Antietam,  in  the  midst  of  his  most  suc 
cessfully  conceived  plan  of  military  strategy.  No  one  is  ignorant  of 
the  dignity  and  patriotism  with  which  McClellan  bowed  his  head  at 
the  cruel  mandate.  The  heart  of  the  soldier  and  loyal  citizen  had 
been  profoundly  hurt.  What  could  have  been  more  cruelly  mortify 
ing  than  to  feel  one's  self  capable  of  being  of  the  highest  service  to 
one's  country  in  time  of  her  extreme  need — to  have  proved  this, 
only  to  be  made  the  victim  of  stupid  political  jealousy!  One  easily 
understands  the  mistake  McClellan  made  before  the  end  of  the 
war — it  was  a  mistake — in  not  refusing  to  allow  his  name  to  be 
opposed  to  that  of  Lincoln  in  the  presidential  election.  Happily, 
he  lived  long  enough  to  see  his  talents  admitted,  .  .  .  and  to 
receive  in  Europe  the  homage  of  every  soldier  who  had  intelligently 
studied  the  great  civil  war  of  America.  Appreciated  by  the  world, 
honored  by  the  citizens  of  New  Jersey,  he  was  fortunate  in  remain 
ing  a  stranger  to  the  dangers  of  political  partisanship,  which  have 
compromised  the  reputation  of  more  than  one  accomplished  soldier. 
To  the  last  he  remained  worthy  to  be  called,  above  all  else,  Vir 
fortis —  Vir  bonus  ! 

PHILIPPE,  COMTE  DE  PARIS. 


THE    EXTIRPATION    OF   CRIMINALS. 

THE  movement  of  Prison  Reform  has  in  view,  ist,  the  reform  of 
prisons;  2d,  the  reform  of  prisoners.  The  ultimate  object  is  the 
extirpation  of  the  criminal  class,  and  the  reduction  of  criminal  of 
fences.  Aside  from  humanitarian  considerations,  society  demands 
this  on  the  ground  of  security  and  on  the  ground  of  economy. 

During  the  last  thirty  or  forty  years  great  improvement  has  been 
made  in  the  United  States,  especially  in  the  northern  States,  in  the 
construction  and  management  of  State  prisons,  and  a  little  in  county 
jails  and  lock-ups.  This  has  been  a  necessary  first  step  in  the  reform. 
It  was  due  to  our  civilization,  to  our  self-respect  and  sense  of  decency. 
Most  of  the  prisons  and  jails  were  barbarous,  many  of  them  are  so 
still — barbarous  in  management,  and  disregard  of  moral  ideas,  if  not 
in  physical  conditions.  In  one  point  of  view,  nothing  else  is  so  rep 
resentative  of  the  vigor  and  intelligence  of  this  century's  civiliza 
tion  as  the  enlightened  construction,  the  organization,  the  discipline, 
the  regard  for  physical  comfort,  the  enforcement  of  wholesome  labor, 
the  cleanliness,  and  the  sanitary  arrangements  of  our  great  institu 
tions  for  the  confinement  of  criminals.  If  our  object  is  the  security 
and  comfort  of  sentenced  men,  we  have  fully  attained  it  in  some  of 
our  model  prisons. 

This  reform  in  prisons  was  also  necessary  to  a  reform  of  the 
prisoners,  for  it  is  an  accepted  truth — religion  and  science  agree  in 
this — that  you  must  lift  a  man  out  of  physical  degradation  before 
you  can  permanently  benefit  him  morally.  The  theory,  therefore, 
upon  which  the  prisons  have  been  reformed  is  a  perfectly  sound  one  ; 
but  we  have  come  in  many  cases  to  a  point  where  we  can  see  the 
end  of  its  efficacy,  unless  we  supplement  it  with  something  else. 
For  we  are  already  face  to  face  with  the  question,  Do  reformed 
prisons  reform  ? 

By  reformed  prisons  I  do  not  here  mean  the  few  like  the  Etmira 
Reformatory,  where  the  inmates  are  drilled  into  new  habits  by  a 
threefold  enforced  discipline,  which  reaches  the  body,  the  conduct, 
and  the  intellect;  I  mean  those  excellent  model  prisons  which  leave 
little  to  be  desired  in  construction  and  in  the  comfort  of  the  inmates, 


THE  EXTIRPATION  OF  CRIMINALS. 

and  many  of  which,  under  humane  management,  soften  the  rigors 
of  imprisonment  by  means  of  libraries,  entertaining  lectures  and 
readings,  concerts,  holidays,  anniversary  dinners,  flowers,  and  marks 
for  obedience  to  rules,  which  shorten  the  term  of  confinement.  Do 
these  reformed  prisons  reform  ? 

The  reply  which  the  public  makes  to  this  question  is  that  crimes 
rather  increase  than  diminish,  that  the  number  of  criminals  in  peni 
tentiaries  more  than  keeps  pace  with  the  growth  of  population  and 
of  wealth,  so  that  enlarged  accommodations  for  both  old  and  juvenile 
offenders  are  continually  demanded,  and  that  what  is  known  as  the 
criminal  class  is  larger  year  by  year.  Inspection  of  the  prisons  shows, 
in  the  number  of  persons  serving  second,  third,  and  fourth  terms, 
no  diminution  of  professional  criminals.  No  doubt  that  humane 
treatment  and  classification  of  prisoners,  where  classification  is  tried, 
do  save  some  criminals  from  further  demoralization,  and  occasionally 
reform. 

But  the  general  public,  which  never  interests  itself  in  this  subject 
philosophically  or  scientifically,  and  does  not  comprehend  at  all  such 
far-reaching  plans  of  the  reformer  as  are  involved  in  the  indetermi 
nate  sentence,  and  has  nothing  to  do  with  criminals  except,  spasmo 
dically,  to  punish  them,  the  general  public  says  that  all  this  better 
lodging  and  better  feeding  of  convicts  is  nonsense,  because  it  does 
not  dimmish  the  volume  of  crime,  and  that  the  only  effect  of  the 
"  rose-water "  treatment  is  to  pamper  criminals,  set  them  up  physi 
cally,  and  prolong  their  destructive  career  in  the  world.  And  there 
is,  to  my  mind,  so  much  truth  in  this  charge,  that  if  the  end  of  the 
present  prison  reform  is  comfortable  prisons  and  the  physical  reha 
bilitation  of  the  criminal  class,  I  am  quite  ready  to  listen  to  other 
more  promising  proposals  for  the  extirpation  of  this  class.  It  is 
this  point  which  I  wish  to  consider  briefly  in  this  paper. 

The  whole  benevolent  force  of  modern  society  is  directed  to  the 
survival  of  the  weakest ;  this  is  the  study  of  science  and  of  philan 
thropy  ;  to  prolong  the  existence  of  the  diseased,  the  feeble  in  mind 
and  body,  the  vicious  also,  and  to  promote  the  propagation  on  earth 
of  the  feeble  and  the  vicious.  Looked  at  abstractly,  as  regards  the 
welfare  of  future  society,  and  scientifically,  this  is  absurd ;  looked  at 
from  the  side  of  humanity,  it  is  exceedingly  defective  as  at  present 
developed,  the  true  object  of  philanthropy  being  the  elimination  of 
disease  and  crime. 

Now,  what  the  general  public  arrives  at  roughly,  by  the  exercise 


THE  EXTIRPATION  OF  CRIMINALS.  89 

of  what  it  calls  common  sense,  a  great  many,  an  increasing  number, 
of  thinking  men,  students  of  present  and  past  social  conditions — 
men  solicitous  about  the  future  of  the  race — have  come  to  by  obser 
vation  and  reasoning.  They  see  that  crime  increases,  that  protection 
against  its  injury  to  individuals  is  inadequate,  so  that  there  is  con 
tinual  talk  of  the  necessity  for  men  to  take  the  law  into  their  own 
hands ;  that  the  criminal  class  is  yearly  larger  and  more  aggressive ; 
that  thus  far  philanthropy  does  little  more  in  this  direction  than  to 
enable  the  criminal  class  to  propagate  itself  more  prolifically ;  that 
we  pay  immense  sums  for  a  police  to  watch  men  and  women  per 
fectly  well  known  to  be  criminals,  lying  in  wait  to  rob  and  murder ; 
and  other  immense  sums  to  catch  and  try  over  and  over  again  these 
criminals,  who  are  shut  up  for  short  terms,  well  cared  for,  physically 
rehabilitated,  and  then  sent  out  to  continue  their  prowling  warfare 
against  society. 

And,  considering  this  rising  tide  of  crime,  the  readiness  also  of 
the  criminal  class  to  reinforce  all  the  riotous  demonstrations  in  the 
socialistic  agitations,  these  students  of  social  life  declare  that  the 
time  is  at  hand  when  society  will  be  compelled  to  take  decided  and 
radical  measures  for  the  repression  of  th'e  criminal  class,  and  against 
its  propagation. 

They  say,  as  a  matter  of  historical  observation,  that  the  present 
civilization  in  England  and  America  would  not  have  been  possible 
but  for  the  elimination  of  the  vicious  class,  of  bad  blood,  by  various 
violent  processes  during  several  centuries  in  England.  They  refer 
not  so  much  to  war  and  pestilence,  which  swept  away,  to  some 
degree,  good  as  well  as  bad  elements  in  society,  but  to  the  capital 
laws  against  petty  criminals  and  vagrants.  These  laws  were  bar 
barous.  There  was  the  same  death  penalty  for  snaring  a  hare,  or 
stealing  a  loaf  of  bread,  as  for  taking  a  purse  on  the  highway,  with 
the  added  ceremony  of  murdering  its  owner.  England  swarmed 
with  mendicants  who  were  all  thieves,  with  vagabonds,  associated 
and  classified  in  ranks  and  orders,  idle  law-breakers  of  every  fanci 
ful  designation.  The  severe  laws,  making  no  distinction  of  pun 
ishment  for  crimes  of  varying  enormity,  had  the  usual  effect  of  such 
laws  in  making  men  reckless.  England  bristled  with  gibbets ;  the 
tree  that  bore  most  fruit  in  that  damp  climate  was  the  gallows-tree. 
The  number  of  executions  was  enormous. 

Now,  these  barbarous  laws  did  not  repress  crime ;  they  are  be 
lieved  by  many  to  have  increased  it ;  but  it  is  undeniable  that  they 


90  THE  EXTIRPATION  OF  CRIMINALS. 

did  eliminate  a  vast  amount  of  bad  blood  from  the  body  politic, 
that  they  did  extirpate  a  great  mass  of  criminals  root  and  branch, 
and  prevent  the  propagation  of  their  kind  ;  so  that  when  the  severe 
laws,  which  tended  to  make  the  viciously  inclined  criminal,  were 
gradually  repealed,  the  new  civilization  had  sensibly  less  of  the  bad 
element  to  deal  with. 

This  is  the  argument  of  a  great  many  thinking  men,  who  see  and 
say  that  our  affairs  have  now  come  to  such  a  pass  that  the  elimi 
nation  of  the  criminal  class,  by  some  means,  and  perhaps  by  the 
prevention  of  its  propagation,  v/ill  soon  be  a  necessity  to  our  social 
existence.  We  know  that  the  removal  of  twenty,  or  fifty,  or  a  hun 
dred,  or  two  hundred,  desperate  characters,  from  this  or  that  city  in 
the  United  States,  would  be  of  immense  benefit  to  it.  You  can  all 
recall  instances  of  riots  in  large  cities  which  have  been  put  down  by 
the  fatal  clubs  of  the  police,  or  by  the  bullets  of  the  citizen  soldiers, 
where  the  elimination  of  bad  blood  has  had  a  most  wholesome  effect 
on  the  peace  and  security  of  the  town  for  some  years  afterward. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  the  elimination  of  desperate  characters,  of 
the  professional  criminals,  the  Apaches  of  our  civilization,  who,  pro 
tected  by  our  laws  and  sustained  by  our  charities,  have  literally  no 
occupation  or  object  in  life  except  to  prey  upon  society,  is  much  to 
be  desired.  These  persons  are  not  simply  useless  to  themselves 
and  to  the  community,  they  are  "  hostiles,"  enemies  of  the  race.  So 
long  as  they  remain  and  propagate  their  kind  they  are  the  most  ex 
pensive  element  in  society,  and  the  most  dangerous. 

How  shall  they  be  eliminated  ?  By  what  means  or  agencies  ?  I 
am  not  speaking  now  of  the  general  influences  of  Christian  civili 
zation,  which  we  believe  are  gradually  improving  mankind,  but  of 
direct  organized  efforts  under  legislation.  To  what,  exactly,  shall 
legislation  be  directed  for  the  extirpation  of  the  criminal  class  ?  We 
use  the  term  criminal  class,  but  what  do  we  mean  by  it  ?  We  assume 
that  if  we  could  cut  this  off,  prevent  its  propagation,  the  work  would 
be  done,  and  the  thinking  men  to  whom  I  have  referred  appeal  to 
the  doctrine  of  heredity.  Is  the  science  of  heredity  sufficiently  un 
derstood  for  us  to  base  legislation  on  it  ? 

Those  most  experienced  best  understand  the  difficulty  of  classi 
fying  criminals.  In  every  prison  there  are  some  who  are  accidental 
criminals,  who,  led  by  passion  or  evil  circumstances,  have  committed 
a  crime,  contrary  to  the  usual  law-abiding  habit  of  their  lives ;  their 
number  is  small.  There  are  not  nearly  so  many  of  these  as  there  are 


THE  EXTIRPATION  OF  CRIMINALS.  9 1 

men  outside  the  prisons  who  lead  lives  of  absolute  rascality  within 
the  law,  and  escape  detection.     Then  there  are  many,  vicious,  igno 
rant,  ill-nurtured,  to  whom  crime  is  natural,  but  who  are  not  profes 
sionals,  that  is  to  say,  they  have  other  occupations  than  crime.     But 
both  these  not  well-defined  classes  may  become  professional  and  de 
termined  criminals,  and  nearly  all  our  county  jails  and  lock-ups,  and 
most  of  our  larger  prisons,  tend  to  make  them  so.     Then  there  are 
the  regular  professionals,  determined  criminals,  who  have  no  other 
occupation  than  crime.     Perhaps  a  rough  but  sufficient  classification 
of  inmates  of  State  prisons  would  be,  those  who  violate  the  law  occa 
sionally,  but  have  occupations  more  or  less  honest ;  and  those  who 
live  on  the  community  solely  by  the  commission  of  crimes.     Many 
of  these  last  were  born  criminals,  raised  criminals,  come  of  a  per 
fectly  well-defined  criminal  lineage  ;  but  not  all  of  them  ;  some  have 
entered  this  life  from  better  conditions.    For  heredity  has  its  freaks, 
apparently.     I  have  known  a  pure  and  upright  child  spring  from  the 
basest  parentage — like  a  lily  out  of  the  mire ;  and  I  have  known  the 
most  vicious  and  degraded  offspring  from  a  family  irreproachable,  so 
far  as  was  known,  for  generations.    I  knew  of  one  family  of  a  clergy 
man,  the  ancestors  on  the  father's  and  mother's  side  entirely  respecta 
ble,  which  offered  this  anomaly :  two  of  the  children  grew  up  with 
every  virtue  and  lived  lives  of  the  highest  usefulness ;  two  others — a 
boy  and  a  girl — went  to  the  bad  utterly.    The  four  had  been  brought 
up  under  precisely  the  same  good  influences,  under  the  same  moral 
discipline.    I  believe  in  heredity,  that  is,  in  the  transmission  of  quali 
ties  and  appetites  and  traits  and  tendencies.     But  I  do  not  think  we 
know  enough  about  it  to  make  it  the  basis  of  legislation  for  the  ex 
tirpation  of  the  criminal  class.     A  good  man  may  have  a  bad  daugh 
ter,  a  bad  man  may  have  a  good  daughter.     What  we  call  the  crimi 
nal  class  is  constantly  recruited  from  the  better  elements  of  society, 
and  members  of  the  criminal  class  are  sometimes  reformed.    It  needs 
omniscience  to  tell  who  will  not  become  a  criminal,  and  what  crimi 
nal  is  absolutely  irreclaimable. 

I  think  it  is  evident,  therefore,  that  in  our  attempt  to  extirpate 
criminals  we  must  deal  with  them  as  individual  men  and  women,  and 
not  with  classes.  But,  to  effect  this,  I  look  to  measures  quite  as  radi 
cal  as  any  of  those  suggested  for  the  elimination  of  criminals  by  bar 
barous  laws  and  barbarous  punishments,  but  measures  in  harmony 
with  our  Christian  civilization.  I  believe  that  we  have  entered  upon 
the  right  path,  but  that  to  rest  in  the  "rose-water"  and  milk-and- 


92  THE  EXTIRPATION  OF  CRIMINALS. 

water  philanthropy  stage,  if  not  more  likely  to  nurture  crime  and 
foster  criminals  than  the  old  barbarism,  may  do  even  less  than  that 
for  the  elimination  of  the  criminal  class. 

Society  must  concern  itself  more  actively  and  intelligently  with 
this  matter  than  it  has  yet  done ;  its  humanitarianism  must  have  a 
severer  and  more  radical  character.  There  is  great  need  now  of  tem 
pering  mercy  with  justice.  We  may  take  a  lesson  from  the  modern 
dealing  with  pauperism.  The  mediaeval  plan  bred  paupers ;  the  sys 
tem  of  associated  charities  and  inspection,  while  relieving  want,  tends 
to  diminish  pauperism,  by  helping  the  poor  to  help  themselves. 
There  is  as  yet  very  little  prevention  in  our  whole  scheme  of  dealing 
with  crime  and  criminals.  Comfortable  prisons  and  humane  treat 
ment  of  convicts,  creditable  as  they  are  to  our  civilization,  do  not  at 
all  go  to  the  root  of  the  matter. 

Prevention  must  be  directed  to  two  ends :  the  prevention  of  the 
recruiting  of  the  criminal  class,  and  the  prevention  of  the  commis 
sion  of  more  crimes  by  the  criminal  class.  The  one  will  be  measura 
bly  stopped  by  the  rescue  of  children  in  degraded  circumstances, 
where  they  are  morally  certain  to  become  either  criminals  or  pau 
pers;  the  other  will  be  accomplished  mainly  by  putting  the  well- 
known,  the  professional,  the  determined  criminals  where  they  can  no 
longer  prey  upon  society,  and  where  some  of  them,  perhaps  a  con 
siderable  percentage  of  them,  may  be  reformed. 

The  first,  the  rescue  of  the  children,  is  an  enormous  task,  much 
more  difficult  than  the  second.  Many  agencies  are  now  directed  to 
it,  but  the  undertaking  is  so  vast,  it  is  complicated  by  so  many 
domestic  and  social  problems,  that  only  a  mitigation  of  the  evil  can 
be  expected  until  the  whole  of  society  is  aroused  to  the  absolute 
necessity  of  the  moral  as  well  as  the  intellectual  training  of  the 
young,  so  that  a  united  and  general  effort  is  made,  not  only  for  the 
care  of  the  waifs  and  strays,  the  young  barbarians  of  our  feverish 
civilization,  but  for  the  rescue  of  all  children  predetermined  to  use 
less  lives  by  vice  or  poverty.  I  believe  that  this  is  vital  to  the  wel 
fare  of  the  republic,  and  that  if  we  neglect  it  our  efforts  to  repress 
crime  will  be  as  futile  as  the  attempt  to  keep  back  the  ocean  tide 
with  a  broom.  But  I  have  only  space  to  emphasize  it,  while  passing 
to*  consider  the  treatment  of  actual  criminals,  a  large  proportion  of 
whom,  alas !  are  young. 

Admitting  the  necessity  of  more  radical  measures  than  prevail  at 
present  in  the  treatment  of  convicted  criminals,  it  seems  to  me  as 


THE  EXTIRPATION  OF  CRIMINALS.  93 

unscientific  as  it  would  be  un-humane  to  return  to  the  old  barbarous 
methods,  to  attempt  the  extirpation  of  criminals  by  re-enacting  the 
capital  laws  of  the  fifteenth  century,  or  by  inventing  cruel  and  dis 
abling  punishments.  It  will  never  be  done.  The  enlightened  hu 
manity  of  the  age  will  never  permit  it.  Science  even  cannot  coun 
sel  it,  for  science  cannot  draw  a  line  between  the  criminal  class  and 
the  non-criminal,  nor  tell  us  even  who  are  irreclaimable  in  the  crimi 
nal  class.  We  must  go  on  in  the  course  we  have  entered  on,  but 
we  must  go  on  more  intelligently,  more  radically,  and  to  the  logical 
end.  The  plan  to  be  pursued  must  be  as  free  from  sentimentality  as 
from  inhumanity. 

This  plan  has  two  objects:  the  security  of  society,  by  placing 
determined  criminals  where  they  cannot  prey  upon  it,  and  increase 
the  burden  of  our  taxation  by  their  idleness  and  by  their  depreda 
tions  ;  and,  second,  the  reform  of  the  prisoners. 

In  coming  time  the  world  will  look  back  with  amazement  upon 
the  days  when  it  let  known,  determined  criminals  run  at  large,  only 
punishing  them  occasionally,  by  a  temporary  deprivation  of  their 
liberty  in  short  and  determinate  sentences.  We  can  see  to-day  that 
it  is  a  thoroughly  illogical  proceeding.  The  man  determined  upon 
a  life  of  crime  is  of  no  use  to  himself  at  large,  and  he  is  both  a  dan 
ger  and  expense  to  the  community.  He  commonly  gives  evidence 
in  his  character  and  his  acts  of  this  determination — evidence  suffi 
cient  for  the  court  which  tries  and  sentences  him  ;  but  if  that  is 
too  uncertain,  then  conviction  for  a  second  offence  may  be  legally 
taken  to  define  his  position.  After  the  second  offence  the  criminal 
should  be  shut  up,  on  an  indeterminate  sentence,  where  he  will 
be  compelled  to  labor  to  pay  for  his  board  and  clothes  and  the 
expense  of  his  safe  keeping. 

The  idea  that  by  committing  crime  a  man  can  compel  the  State 
to  support  him  is  one  of  the  most  whimsical  of  modern  inventions. 
It  is  a  curious  theory  of  the  so-called  Labor  party,  and  its  endorse 
ment  by  the  other  great  parties  is  purely  a  demagogic  expedient  to 
catch  a  few  votes.  The  notion  that  fconest  men  must  be  taxed  to 
support  criminals  in  idleness  needs  only  to  be  stated  to  expose  its 
absurdity.  Granted  that  a  man  must  not  do  profitable  labor  because 
he  is  in  prison,  it  is  then  true  that  he  should  not  be  reformed,  Be 
cause,  as  an  honest  workman,  at  liberty,  he  would  be  another  com 
petitor  in  the  labor  market.  The  only  possible  injustice  would  be 
for  the  State  using  convict  labor  to  undersell  its  manufactured  pro- 


94  THE  EXTIRPATION  OF  CRIMINALS. 

ducts  in  the  market.  That  would  be  unjust  to  every  honest  work 
man. 

The  first  step,  therefore,  in  the  extirpation  of  criminals  is  to  shut 
up  on  an  indeterminate  sentence  all  those  who,  by  a  second  offence, 
place  themselves  in  the  criminal  class.  We  shall  certainly  come  to 
this,  and  when  we  do  society  will  be  free  of  a  vast  mass  of  criminals, 
who  will  be  where  they  earn  their  living,  where  they  can  no  longer 
prey  upon  society,  where  they*  cannot  corrupt  the  innocent,  where 
they  cannot  increase  their  kind  in  the  world,  and  where  they  will 
have  the  only  chance  possible  to  them  for  reform. 

How  shall  they  be  treated  ?  Kindly,  humanely,  of  course,  but 
not  in  any  way  pampered.  The  first  requisite  is  their  security.  So 
ciety  has  a  right  to  demand  that  they  should  be  secure,  and,  sec 
ondly,  that  they  shall  not  have  an  easier  lot  as  criminals  than  honest 
men  have  outside  the  prisons.  Rigid  discipline  is  essential ;  disci 
pline  is  the  first  requisite  in  any  attempt  for  the  improvement  of  the 
condition  of  the  men,  physically,  morally,  or  intellectually.  In  any 
education,  in  the  learning  of  any  trade,  it  is  the  first  requisite  ;  it  is 
emphatically  so  for  boys  and  men  distorted  morally,  intellectually, 
and  physically.  Hard  labor  is  also  essential. 

What  shall  that  labor  be  ?  It  must,  in  the  first  place,  be  profi 
table,  if  possible ;  it  should  be  such  as  will  put  the  men  in  better 
condition,  if  they  regain  their  liberty,  to  earn  a  living.  It  has  been 
suggested  that  in  such  States  as,  say,  Vermont  and  New  Hampshire, 
where  the  railways  have  caused  the  country  roads  to  be  neglected, 
the  convicts  might  well  be  employed  in  road-making.  The  sugges 
tion  is  not  unreasonable.  Its  adoption  might  increase  the  value  of 
farm  property  and  be  of  general  benefit  to  the  State.  The  objec 
tions  to  this  are  those  that  apply  to  the  Southern  lease  system.  It 
abandons  all  hope  of  reforming  the  prisoners,  and  it  is  demoralizing 
to  the  community.  It  would  not  be  so  bad  as  the  Southern  lease 
system,  because  in  that  the  State  relinquishes  all  moral  control  of 
the  prisoners  to  private  persons,  whose  only  interest  in  the  convicts 
is  the  amount  of  work  to  be  got  out  of  them.  The  spectacle  of  the 
public  punishment  of  convicts  seems  to  me  almost  as  demoralizing 
to  the  community  as  public  executions.  I  saw  once,  on  a  road  lead 
ing  out  of  Atlanta,  a  gang  of  convicts,  a  wild,  brutal  gang,  chanting 
the  barbarous  songs  of  Africa  as  they  swung  their  hammers.  By  the 
roadside  stood  a  guard  of  men ••  with  rifles  levelled  at  the  convicts. 
It  gave  me  a  shock;  humanity  was  degraded  by  the  spectacle. 


THE  EXTIRPATION  OF  CRIMINALS.  95 

Probably  the  shock  would  have  been  less  the  second  time  I  saw 
them,  and  I  should  gradually  become  so  accustomed  to  it  that  I 
should  not  be  shocked  at  all.  But  I  should  lose  something  of  value 
in  my  moral  nature  in  thus  becoming  used  to  it,  just  as  I  should  in 
becoming  hardened  to  the  shock  of  public  executions.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  gangs  of  convicts  distributed  about  the  country  have  a 
bad  effect  on  the  moral  tone  of  the  community.  And  no  reform  of 
the  convicts  can  be  expected  unless  they  are  placed  under  severe 
discipline,  where  all  good  influences  can  be  brought  to  bear  upon 
them. 

We  can  shut  up  confirmed  criminals,  and  thus  take  the  first  ne 
cessary  step  in  the  elimination  of  the  criminal  class.  This  is  compara 
tively  easy,  and  it  is  a  wonder  that  a  long-suffering  and  thrifty  gen 
eration  has  not  long  ago  taken  it.  The  reform  of  convicts  is  a  more 
difficult  and  discouraging  undertaking.  Many  people  think  it  im 
possible,  except  in  sporadic  cases,  so  few  as  not  to  encourage  effort 
in  this  direction.  They  regard  the  time  and  money  and  sympathy 
expended  in  this  effort  as  wasted. 

But  the  effort,  except  in  the  Elmira  system  and  a  few  copies  of  it, 
has  not  been  anywhere  scientifically  or  philosophically  undertaken. 
No  wonder,  when  the  effect  upon  the  individual  character  is  so 
small  even  in  our  best  model  prisons,  that  the  question  of  Prison 
Reform  should  be  popularly  regarded  with  doubt  and  indifference. 
The  public  mind  has  been  so  educated  that  it  is  quick  to  be  indig 
nant  at  any  official  cruelty  in  prisons,  but  it  has  not  yet  come  to 
have  any  faith  in  the  reforming  influence  of  our  improved  prisons. 
Why  should  it  ? 

Before  it  has,  the  prisons  must  show  fruits,  and  the  reformers 
must  go  on,  and  go  far,  in  the  direction  they  have  taken.  In  most 
respects  there  must  be  a  radical  change  in  methods,  a  change  based 
upon  a  deep  knowledge  of  human  nature.  The  key-note  to  the  re 
form  of  any  man — to  his  education,  indeed — is  the  drilling  him  into 
good  and  fixed  physical,  moral,  and  intellectual  habits.  The  more 
deteriorated  or  feeble  the  man  is  the  longer  the  process  will  be. 
For  the  confirmed  and  degraded  criminal,  the  only  chance  of  refor 
mation  is  keeping  him  under  intelligent  discipline  long  enough  to 
eradicate  his  bad  habits  and  fix  him  in  good  habits.  To  this  end 
the  indeterminate  sentence  is  absolutely  indispensable,  a  sentence 
that  there  is  no  hope  of  ending  or  abbreviating  until  he  gives  indis 
putable  evidence  that  he  is  a  changed  man.  He  must,  as  at  Elmira, 


96  THE  EXTIRPATION  OF  CRIMINALS. 

work  out  his  own  salvation.  And  the  hope  of  this  system  is  that  no 
man  can  for  indeterminate  years  be  subjected  to  a  discipline  which 
rigidly  enforces  good  conduct,  correct  physical  living,  application  to 
.work,  and  mental  drill  and  moral  instruction,  without  forming  some 
fixed  good  habits.  It  is  an  ethical  and  physical  law.  The  time 
needed  to  form  these  habits  will  be  short  with  some  boys  and  men 
and  long  with  others.  I  said,  no  man  can  be  subjected  to  this  disci 
pline  without  benefit,  if  the  time  is  long  enough.  Still,  there  prob 
ably  are  incorrigibles.  The  place  for  them  is  undoubtedly  in  prison, 
and  at  hard  labor  all  their  lives.  They  are  of  no  use  elsewhere  in 
the  world.  We  must  sternly  dismiss  the  sentimental  notion  that 
determined,  confirmed  criminals,  who  have  no  intention  of  ever  do 
ing  anything  but  preying  upon  society,  have  any  right  to  liberty. 
What  a  burlesque  upon  our  civilization,  for  instance,  is  our  treat 
ment  of  professional  burglars ! 

Many  of  our  reformed  prisons  are  ready  for  the  introduction  of 
the  reformatory  discipline,  which,  if  we  are  to  make  thorough  work 
in  the  extirpation  of  criminals,  must  be  inaugurated  in  all  the  State 
prisons  and  penitentiaries,  as  well  as  in  the  juvenile  reformatories. 
It  is  not  a  question  of  punishment.  Perhaps  a  year's  incarceration 
may  be  enough  punishment  for  a  certain  crime ;  but,  as  the  question 
is  the  welfare  of  society  and  the  reform  of  the  criminal,  there  is  no 
reason  why  a  man  should  come  out  of  prison  until  he  is  fit  to  come 
out,  that  is  to  say,  until  it  seems  likely  that  he  will  not  further  injure 
himself  by  committing  new  crimes,  and  until  he  will  not  be  a  terror 
and  a  danger  to  the  community. 

In  order  to  carry  out  this  reformatory  discipline  in  prisons,  we 
need  the  best-resources  of  our  civilization ;  I  mean,  the  application  to 
it  of  the  highest  moral  and  intellectual  forces.  For  the  head  of  a 
college  we  must  have  a  man  of  learning  and  of  high  character ;  for 
the  conduct  of  an  industrial  shop  we  must  have  a  man  of  skill,  tact, 
and  energy ;  in  the  pulpit  and  the  Sunday-school  we  must  have 
ability  and  moral  excellence.  Every  one  of  these  qualities  is  re 
quisite  in  the  management  of  a  reformatory  prison.  To  reform 
determined  criminals,  under  sentence  of  the  law,  is  the  most  difficult 
task  ever  yet  set  to  human  skill,  sympathy,  and  ability.  I  do  not  care 
how  able  a  man  may  be,  how  cultivated,  how  refined,  how  morally 
and  intellectually  strong,  he  will  find  play  for  all  his  forces  and  re 
sources  in  attempting  to  reform  a  prison  full  of  convicts.  The  in 
fluence  of  character,  of  gentle  breeding,  of  intellect,  will  be  as  much 


THE  EXTIRPATION  OF  CRIMINALS.  97 

felt  in  a  prison  as  anywhere  else.     We  are  out  of  the  field  of  homeo 
pathy  here — like  does  not  cure  like. 

I  visited  once  a  large  city  prison,  where  the  inmates,  convicts  and 
those  awaiting  trial,  were  huddled  together  in  one  unsavory  crowd, 
guarded  by  keepers  whose  manners  and  evident  moral  status  were  so 
like  those  of  the  prisoners  that  the  two  classes  might  have  changed 
places  without  exciting  the  suspicion  of  the  spectator.  The  pri 
soners  by  their  bad  conduct  had  elected  themselves  to  their  situa 
tion  ;  the  keepers  had  been  elected  or  appointed  to  their  places 
probably  for  dubious  political  services.  Bad  as  these  prisoners  ap 
peared  to  be,  I  do  not  think  it  was  fair  for  the  State  to  subject 
them  to  further  deterioration  by  placing  them  in  charge  of  such 
keepers. 

To  students  of  psychology  there  is  no  more  interesting  problem 
than  this  of  changing  the  inclinations  of  men,  apparently  demoral 
ized,  by  the  application  of  discipline  continued  long  enough  to  form 
new  habits.  The  experiment  is  not  possible  except  upon  men 
placed  under  control  for  an  indefinite  time.  The  public  is  sceptical 
about  it.  Many  experts  with  a  life-long  experience  in  the  care  of 
criminals  are  sceptical  about  it.  Well  they  may  be,  when  they  have 
never  seen  convicts  subjected  to  the  proposed  discipline  for  an  in 
definite  time.  It  is  a  new  departure. 

The  experiment  will  cost  nothing ;  indeed,  it  is  the  most  economi 
cal  method  we  can  adopt ;  for  if  it  should  fail  to  make  less  than  five 
in  a  hundred  convicts  law-abiding  men,  it  can  be  demonstrated  that 
it  is  true  economy  for  the  State  to  keep  its  incorrigible  criminals 
locked  up,  where  they  cannot  prey  upon  their  fellows,  and  where 
they  must  earn  their  living. 

We  have  come  nearly  to  the  end  of  the  experiment  of  what  com 
fortable  prisons  and  even  kind  treatment  can  do  in  the  way  of 
changing  the  lives  of  individual  men.  I  believe  that  the  most  of 
those  in  charge  of  such  prisons  are  sceptical  about  the  reform  of 
any  considerable  proportion  of  their  inmates.  But  all  admit  that 
something  ought  to  be  done  for  the  elimination  of  the  criminal  class. 
Some  may  favor  a  return  to  the  severe  laws  of  two  centuries  ago, 
with  the  addition  of  barbarous  punishments.  But  the  whole  spirit 
of  the  age  demands  a  more  humane,  more  scientific,  more  philosophi 
cal  treatment  of  the  pariahs.  We  cannot  go  back.  We  must  go 
forward. 

CHARLES  DUDLEY  WARNER. 
7 


EDWIN    P.  WHIFFLE   AS   CRITIC. 

FIFTY  years  ago  a  lad  was  to  be  seen  daily  in  the  rooms  of  the 
Salem  Athenaeum,  who,  in  his  leisure  moments,  was  never  without 
a  book,  and  whose  intelligent  and  rounded  face  attracted  general 
attention.  He  wore  a  short  jacket,  knew  nothing  outside  of  books, 
and  had  wonderfully  expressive  eyes.  About  1835  he  came  to  Bos 
ton  to  engage  in  the  duties  of  a  merchant's  clerk,  but  this  position 
was  soon  exchanged  for  the  care  of  a  periodical  exchange,  where 
his  opportunities  for  reading  were  as  unlimited  as  they  were  in 
Salem.  Too  poor  to  think  for  a  moment  of  a  college  education, 
few  young  men  would  have  been  more  benefited  by  a  liberal  train 
ing.  He  was  entirely  self-educated.  He  belonged  to  a  coterie 
of  bright  clerks  of  that  day,  all  of  whom  were  anxious  to  make 
something  of  themselves,  and  in  their  genial  company  he  first 
found  the  attrition  of  mind  with  mind  which  is  the  most  important 
part  of  mental  training.  This  was  long  before  the  days  of  the 
Lowell  Institute  and  the  Public  Library,  institutions  which  were 
the  natural  successors  of  the  courses  of  lectures  these  young  men, 
with  Edwin  Percy  Whipple  as  their  leader,  organized  in  connection 
with  the  old  Mercantile  Library,  of  which  they  made  him  for  many 
years  the  custodian.  The  training  here  received  had  its  advantages 
and  its  drawbacks.  It  brought  him  into  direct  contact  with  reali 
ties,  but  it  failed  to  secure  the  strength  of  thought  and  breadth  of 
view  which  go  with  a  classical  and  comprehensive  education.  Great 
and  exceptional  as  were  Whipple's  early  achievements  in  letters,  it 
is  easy  to  note  why  he  did  not  accomplish  more,  and  to  see  why  he 
missed  the  points  of  excellence  which  a  more  generous  culture 
would  have  given  him.  He  had  not  a  creative  mind,  but  his  purely 
critical  abilities,  though  of  the  first  order,  needed  the  discipline  of 
exact  and  long-continued  study,  and  the  widening  of  intellectual 
view,  to  make  his  later  work  something  more  substantial  than  it  is. 
He  came  just  short  of  being  a  great  critic  of  literature.  His.  vital 
defect  is  illustrated  by  comparing  his  critical  writing  with  that  of 
Emerson.  Both  have  much  in  common — the  same  feeling  for  vital 
ity  in  the  works  of  others,  the  same  regard  for  good  form — but 


EDWIN  P.  WHIFFLE  AS  CRITIC.  99 

Emerson  had  the  survey  of  the  world,  though  the  horizon  was  that 
of  Concord,  while  Whipple  seldom  saw  beyond  the  author  or  subject 
which  he  had  in  hand.  This  limitation  in  the  case  of  Whipple  was 
partly  constitutional,  but  if  he  had  received  the  education  which 
Emerson  received,  in  the  plastic  years  of  his  youth,  there  can  be  no 
question  that  his  horizon  would  have  been  immensely  enlarged,  and 
that  his  work  would  have  been  better  related  to  the  generation  to 
which  he  belonged,  and  to  the  life  of  the  world  at  large. 

Whipple  appeared  in  the  field  of  American  letters  when  our 
great  authors  were  in  the  making,  and  when  there  was  no  such  thing 
as  intelligent  and  exact  criticism.  The  elder  Dana  had  done  some 
thing  in  the  papers  which  appeared  in  The  Idle  Man,  and  Long 
fellow  had  written  expository  criticism  of  a  mild  sort  in  The  North 
American  Review,  but  neither  of  these  writers  had  anything  like  in- 
cisiveness  in  his  intellectual  composition.  Dana  had  not  the  hardi 
hood  to  fight  for  his  convictions,  which  were  those  of  Wordsworth 
and  Coleridge,  as  against  those  held  by  the  Harvard  professors  of 
the  period,  and  Longfellow  had  no  convictions  which  he  cared  to 
maintain.  The  field  of  authorship  was  limited,  and  that  of  criticism 
was  almost  wholly  unoccupied.  Two  quarterly  reviews,  The  New 
York  and  The  North  American,  alone  had  the  field,  and  the  strength 
of  such  writers  as  Irving  and  Bryant  and  Cooper  lay  in  a  different 
direction.  It  was  into  this  arena  that  Whipple  stepped  in  1843, 
with  his  remarkable  article  on  Macaulay,  almost  the  first  outside 
plaudit  that  reached  the  famous  English  essayist.  The  qualities 
which  appeared  in  this  essay  were  new  in  our  literature,  and  in 
some  respects  were  the  same  which  contributed  to  Macaulay's  suc 
cess.  Here  were  the  brilliant  rhetorical  antithesis,  the  pointed  epi 
thet,  the  dexterous  grouping  of  clauses,  the  wealth  of  allusion,  the 
assumption  of  knowledge,  and  the  audacity  of  statement  which 
first  arrested  attention  in  Macaulay's  celebrated  essay  on  Milton.  It 
is  not  wonderful  that  the  English  author  hastened  to  acknowledge 
the  compliment  that  had  been  paid  to  him.  Taking  up  Whipple's 
essay  to-day,  one  is  surprised  at  the  maturity  and  strength  of  his 
youthful  work  It  was  the  product  of  his  twenty-fourth  year,  and 
came  from  one  unacquainted  with  literary  society  in  the  larger 
sense,  and  only  known  among  an  enthusiastic  band  of  merchants' 
clerks.  In  it  Whipple  reached  at  one  bound  what  was  then  the 
pinnacle  of  fame  as  an  American  critic.  The  pages  of  The  North 
American  Review  were  immediately  opened  to  him,  and  articles 


100  EDWIN  P.  WHIPPLE  AS  CRITIC. 

from  his  pen  appeared  in  the  venerable  quarterly  in  quick  succes 
sion  for  several  years.  In  1844  two  essays  were  printed,  one  on 
Wordsworth  and  one  on  Daniel  Webster,  which  no  other  man  in 
America  at  that  time  could  have  written.  Nothing  more  critical  or 
discriminating  has  been  said  about  these  two  leaders  in  letters  and 
statesmanship  from  that  day  to  this,  unless  it  came  from  Whipple's 
pen.  His  essay  on  Wordsworth,  written  immediately  after  the 
poets's  death,  is  more  mature  but  not  more  complete  than  the  one 
which  he  prepared  in  his  twenty-fifth  year ;  and  the  same  may  be 
said  of  his  second  essay  on  Webster,  which  was  prefixed  to  the  latest 
edition  of  his  speeches,  and  in  which  Whipple  sought  to  exalt  him 
as  a  master  of  English  style.  This  early  work  had  the  freshness  of 
the  morning  in  it ;  it  echoed  no  opinions  but  his  own  ;  it  was  pro 
found  in  its  critical  analysis,  emphatic  in  its  recognition  of  merit,  and 
altogether  like  the  work  which  Carlyle  and  Macaulay  had  been  contri 
buting  to  the  English  quarterlies  only  a  few  years  earlier.  Emer 
son's  critical  power  was  manifesting  itself  at  the  same  time  in  orac 
ular  utterances  in  the  pages  of  The  Dial ;  Theodore  Parker  was 
displaying  like  critical  ability  in  the  same  periodical  and  in  The  Mas 
sachusetts  Quarterly  ;  Margaret  Fuller  had  contributed  her  masterly 
paper  on  Goethe  to  The  North  American ;  Lowell  was  finding  his  way 
to  critical  expression  through  his  then  unread  volume  of  Conversa 
tions  on  Some  of  the  Old  Poets ;  but  Whipple  surpassed  them  all  in 
his  command  of  his  subject,  in  the  acuteness  of  his  criticism,  in  the 
extent  of  his  knowledge  of  books,  in  his  rhetorical  felicity.  The 
judgments  of  the  American  poets,  which  he  pronounced  in  1844, 
have  not  been  reversed  by  Mr.  Stedman  in  his  survey  of  the  same 
field,  and  his  recognition  of  the  merit  of  Longfellow  as  a  poet  pre 
cedes  by  a  year  or  two  that  accorded  to  him  by  Margaret  Fuller  in 
the  New  York  Tribune.  When  one  considers  that  this  youth  of 
twenty-five  years  had  passed  in  review,  in  the  space  of  not  more 
than  three  years,  such  writers  as  Macaulay,  Talfourd,  Webster, 
Wordsworth,  Byron,  Coleridge,  Doctor  South,  the  old  English  dra 
matists,  and  the  contemporary  English  critics,  and  that  his  criticism 
was  entirely  his  own  and  has  not  been  reversed,  it  may  be  said  with 
confidence  that  there  are  few  examples  in  letters  where  work  of  a 
similar  quality  has  been  produced  by  one  so  young.  Arthur  Hallam 
is  a  similar  instance  of  literary  precocity,  but  he  was  coddled  in  the 
home  of  a  man  of  letters,  while  Edwin  Percy  Whipple  sprang  up 
from  the  ranks,  making  himself  what  he  was  without  ever  crossing 


EDWIN  P.   WHIPPLE  AS  CRITIC.  IOI 

the  threshold  of  an  academic  institution.  Like  Burns,  who  gained 
nothing  for  his  song  from  the  training  of  the  schools,  he  was  to  the 
manner  born  ;  his  gifts  and  his  training  were  his  own  possession. 
Poe  had  the  same  ripeness  of  intellect  in  his  youth,  but  was  not 
stronger  nor  greater  than  Whipple  in  the  use  of  such  gifts  as  the 
two  had  in  common.  Poe  had  the  creative,  where  Whipple  had  the 
illuminating,  imagination,  but  each  had  a  correct  intuition  of  what 
constitutes  excellence  in  literature,  and  reached  judgments  that 
have  stood  the  test  of  time. 

It  is  to  be  remembered,  in  this  general  estimate,  that  the  bulk 
of  Whipple's  critical  work  was  given  to  the  world  while  Americans 
were  without  any  home  standard  of  criticism  and  almost  without 
authors  who  were  worthy  of  critical  study.  His  chief  guides  were 
Macaulay,  Carlyle,  Jeffrey,  and  Mackintosh.  His  training  was 
mainly,  if  not  entirely,  confined  to  the  study  of  English  literature. 
Criticism  was  not  then  based  upon  catholic  principles.  It  had  no 
canons  beyond  the  mechanical  rules  of  good  writing  which  had 
been  laid  down  by  Lord  Kames  and  exemplified  by  Lord  Jeffrey. 
The  criticism  of  a  work  or  of  an  author,  as  an  exponent  of  his  age 
or  as  the  illustration  of  a  ruling  idea  or  as  the  product  of  the  soil, 
the  idea  that  any  work  or  author  had  any  connection  with  those 
who  preceded  him,  the  conception  of  literature  as  the  outgrowth 
of  national  characteristics  or  convictions,  the  interpretation  of  an 
author  as  having  anything  to  contribute  to  the  explanation  of  the 
problems  awaiting  solution  for  the  human  race — the  larger  study 
of  literature  which  is  the  characteristic  of  our  own  age — was  un 
known.  Whipple  was  not  educated  to  this  style  of  thinking  or  this 
sort  of  criticism.  He  took  up  an  author  by  himself,  and,  within  a 
given  space  and  often  without  much  previous  consideration,  ex 
hausted  his  ingenuity  in  saying  about  him  all  that  he  could.  He 
studied  the  author  in  isolation.  He  related  him  to  nothing  that 
went  before  and  to  nothing  that  followed  after.  This  is  notable 
in  the  instance  of  the  paper  on  Webster.  Nothing  can  exceed  the 
thoroughness  of  the  analysis  of  the  intellectual  qualities  of  the 
great  expounder  of  the  Constitution,  but  the  ethical  and  political 
force  of  the  statesman,  his  place  in  the  sum  of  agencies  which  were 
guiding  the  nation,  is  feebly  presented.  The  mental  subtilty  of  the 
essay  is  altogether  in  excess  of  its  breadth  of  vision.  Too  much 
of  this  breadth  must  not  be  expected  in  a  young  man,  but  where 
the  intellectual  grasp  is  so  remarkable,  the  wider  sweep  of  the 


IO2  EDWIN  P.   WHIPPLE  AS  CRITIC. 

critic,  the  adjustment  of  his  criticism  to  the  work  of  other  men,  is 
naturally  expected.  But  in  Whipple's  work,  fine  as  is  its  quality  as 
an  intellectual  judgment  or  discussion,  this  ethical  and  adjusting 
quality  is  wanting.  His  writing  lacks  the  grasp  of  fundamental 
principles,  the  power  of  relating  thought  to  thought.  When  his  first 
outburst  of  critical  discussion  has  exhausted  itself,  which  is  by  the 
year  1850,  this  vigorous  writer,  who  has  done  better  strictly  critical" 
work  than  any  other  American,  is  diminished  to  the  size  of  a  com 
mon  man,  and  does  his  quantum  sufficit  like  other  brilliant  hack 
writers  of  his  time.  A  large  part  of  his  published  works  is  made  up 
from  the  lectures  which  he  used  to  deliver  when  the  lyceum  was  the 
favorite  method  of  literary  entertainment  in  the  country  towns  of 
New  England.  This  was  good  of  its  kind,  but  it  was  not  literature ; 
Emerson  alone  could  print  his  lectures  exactly  as  he  delivered  them, 
and  not  feel  that  they  lost  their  essential  quality  when  separated 
from  the  voice  that  emphasized  them.  In  literary  knowledge  Whip- 
pie  had  no  superior  among  Americans,  but  when  he  undertook  the 
entertainment  of  an  audience  the  temptation  to  be  brilliant  drove  all 
serious  ideas  out  of  his  head,  and  the  result  is  a  display  of  rhetorical 
pyrotechnics  which  has  no  more  present  interest  than  a  bundle  of 
sticks.  When  he  sat  down  to  the  dissection  of  an  author  or  to  the 
critical  discussion  of  a  subject  he  was  another  man  ;  what  he  lacked 
in  moral  purpose  and  breadth  of  view  was  made  up  in  vigor  of  style 
and  in  acuteness  of  probing.  A  volume  of  his  critical  efforts  in 
earlier  and  later  years  could  be  selected  from  his  published  writ 
ings,  which  would  constitute  a  very  considerable  claim  to  his  being 
called  our  first  and  greatest  American  critic  during  the  period 
covered  by  his  life.  This  would  include  his  essays  on  Web 
ster  and  Richard  Henry  Dana,  the  two  papers  on  Wordsworth, 
the  two  critical  studies  of  Rufus  Choate,  the  two  papers  on 
Agassiz,  the  two  studies  of  Emerson,  only  one  of  which  has  been 
reproduced,  the  masterly  paper  on  Daniel  Deronda,  the  unparal 
leled  estimate  of  Hawthorne,  the  recollections  of  Charles  Sumner, 
the  early  criticism  of  Doctor  South's  sermons,  and  the  brilliant  but 
one-sided  essay  on  Matthew  Arnold.  All  this  work  is  of  a  high 
order,  and  can  bear  comparison  with  anything  of  its  kind  that  is 
contemporary  with  Whipple's  writing.  On  its  own  and  intended 
lines  it  is  exhaustive  and  final.  The  excess  of  words,  which  was  the 
defect  of  his  earlier  style,  was  removed  in  his  later  work ;  in  the  es 
says  on  Hawthorne  and  the  second  one  on  Wordsworth  the  style  is 


ED IV IN  P.   WHIPPLE  AS  CRITIC.  1 03 

toned  down  to  the  subject  and  is  a  fitting  channel  for  the  thought ; 
this  is  also  the  case  in  the  recollections  of  Choate,  Sumner,  Emerson, 
Motley,  and  Agassiz.  Nothing  can  be  finer  of  its  kind  than  the 
manner  in  which  he  presents  his  memories  of  these  great  leaders  in 
the  intellectual  life  of  New  England.  He  is  masterly  in  a  portrait 
ure  which  is  half  portrait  and  half  criticism.  It  suits  his  tempera 
ment  and  his  style.  His  Literature  in  the  Age  of  Elizabeth  covers 
ground  with  which  he  was  familiar,  and  no  fault  is  to  be  found  with 
his  judgments  ;  but  it  is  less  spontaneous  than  his  other  writing,  and 
there  is  not  sufficient  scope  given  to  his  critical  power.  He  writes 
as  if  he  were  hedged  in  and  could  not  say  what  he  wished.  The 
first  outlook  upon  the  Elizabethan  period  is  adequate  and  excellent ; 
so  is  the  criticism  of  Shakspere,  Spenser,  and  Hooker ;  but  somehow 
the  life  is  pressed  out  of  the  book ;  there  is  no  soul  in  it.  A  fine 
specimen  of  his  power  to  be  severely  critical  and  yet  truly  just  is 
found  in  a  paper  written  in  his  twenty-ninth  year,  on  the  late  Doc 
tor  Hudson's  studies  of  the  characters  of  Shakspere.  Here  he  was 
eminently  at  home,  and  no  one  knew  better  than  he  how  to  award 
praise  or  blame  in  the  proper  proportions  to  an  author  who  deserved 
both. 

The  question  is  asked  to-day,  why  Whipple  is  not  better  appre 
ciated  ?  Professor  Richardson,  in  his  comprehensive  survey  of  Ameri 
can  literature,  hardly  recognizes  him  as  having  produced  a  ripple  in 
the  development  of  American  thought ;  half  a  dozen  men  of  less  force 
and  acuteness  have  the  credit  which  belongs  to  him.  Is  Professor 
Richardson,  who  is  usually  correct  in  his  judgments,  right  or  wrong 
in  assigning  to  Whipple  an  inferior  place  in  the  criticism  of  litera 
ture  ?  It  is  to  be  feared  that  he  is  nearer  right  than  one  could  wish. 
The  field  which  Whipple  occupied  was  essentially  a  narrow  one. 
The  estimate  of  his  critical  power  is  justly  high,  if  the  limitations  of 
his  education  and  the  restricted  view  which  belongs  to  his  time  are 
taken  into  account,  but  his  work  does  not  rank  with  that  of  the  great 
masters  of  critical  writing.  There  were  really  but  two  men  in  Eng 
land  or  America  who  correctly  gauged  the  literary  movement  of  their 
generation,  and  these  two  were  Carlyle  and  Emerson.  What  Emerson 
was  every  one  knows,  and  what  Carlyle  was  every  one  can  under 
stand  from  his  early  letters  and  his  critical  papers.  Each  of  these 
leaders  undertook  to  create  a  new  world,  and  their  work  is  of  value 
in  proportion  to  the  genuine  "vision  of  that  immortal  sea  which 
brought  us  hither,"  which  each  put  into  his  understanding  of  the 


IO4  EDWIN  P.  WHIPPLE  AS  CRITIC. 

things  that  concerned  human  life.  Defective  as  their  writing  may 
be  in  many  ways,  the  power  of  moral  teaching  which  each  withheld 
from  the  pulpit  was  not  lost  to  society.  Emerson  was  an  idealist, 
and  saw  the  round  world  in  his  poetic  vision,  and  this  saved  him 
from  the  narrowness  of  his  environment  ;  Carlyle  did  not  see  human 
ity  as  will  and  idea,  in  the  sense  that  Emerson  did,  but  he  saw 
things  in  relation  to  the  eternal  verities  so  that  he  got  a  glimpse  of 
the  whole,  and  never  forgot,  whatever  the  subject  might  be  on  which 
he  was  writing,  that  it  had  to  do  with  God  and  his  universe.  These 
men  had  moral  convictions,  and  these  convictions  were  so  elemental 
that  they  entered  into  everything  which  they  wrote  or  thought  or 
said.  The  public  has  come  slowly  to  understand  this,  and  they  are 
destined  hereafter,  for  at  least  a  generation  or  two,  if  not  for  a  thou 
sand  years,  to  have  all  the  recognition  among  the  readers  of  the  best 
spoken  words  which  any  of  the  immortals  could  desire.  Whipple 
was  not  this  sort  of  man.  He  never  went  mad  over  an  idea.  He 
never  groped  around  in  the  night-time,  as  Emerson  did,  to  write 
down  his  thoughts  for  use  in  the  morning.  He  got  his  ideas  from 
the  other  man,  and  nourished  his  mind  by  proxy  all  his  life.  His 
distinction  is  that  he  could  take  in  these  ideas  and  use  them  with 
marvellous  consideration  and  ingenuity ;  that  he  could  detect  fallacies 
and  turn  things  inside  out,  to  the  infinite  merriment  of  his  fellows ; 
that  he  could  enter  into  other  men's  labors  and  use  them.  He  did 
no  original  work ;  he  wrote  nothing  that  had  convictions  in  it ;  he 
never  compelled  another  man  to  take  an  oath  to  refute  what  he  said  ; 
he  never  said  anything  that  compelled  refutation  ;  he  was  a  wit,  a 
brilliant  essayist,  a  wonderful  analyst  of  ideas,  but  not  a  thinker, 
not  an  originator,  not  an  awakening  man.  This  was  his  misfortune, 
and  it  has  to  do  with  the  vitality  of  his  work.  A  man  may  stand, 
while  living,  in  other  men's  shoes  upon  occasion,  and  seem  to  be  a 
man  on  his  own  account,  but  woe  to  his  reputation  when  he  is  dead  ; 
then  he  must  stand  on  his  own  feet,  so  to  speak  ;  if  he  has  done  any 
thing  notable,  in  adding  in  any  way  to  the  sum  of  human  thought,  he 
has  his  place  ;  and,  if  he  has  done  nothing,  then  is  taken  away  from 
him  even  the  small  reputation  which  he  seemed  to  have,  and  the 
clouds  of  oblivion  conceal  him  forever.  It  is  in  this  situation  that 
even  such  a  writer  as  Whipple  is  placed  when  his  work  in  this  world 
is  done.  He  did  notable  things,  but  nothing  goes  with  his  name 
that  can  stand  alone.  His  writing  is  not  closely  or  properly  related 
to  anything.  It  added  nothing  to  the  thought  of  the  age.  It  made 


EDWIN  P.  WHIPPLE  AS  CRITIC,  IO5 

no  visible  impression  upon  and  gave  no  direction  to  the  thought  of  our 
time.  His  writings  are  just  so  many  books  on  the  library  shelf,  which 
you  take  down  upon  occasion  and  glance  over,  but  feel  that  you 
need  not  read. 

When  Bacon  wrote  his  essays,  his  intuitions  told  him  that  his 
work  would  live;  it  had  in  a  condensed  form  the  wisdom  that  is 
necessary  for  the  conduct  of  affairs ;  but  this  vitality  is  not  in  critical 
writing,  unless  it  be  of  an  unusual  character.  Matthew  Arnold's 
collected  critical  essays,  which  he  had  contributed  to  periodicals 
before  1865,  have  given  direction  to  English  culture,  but  when  you 
analyze  those  essays  you  find  that  Mr.  Arnold's  literary  faith  is 
bound  up  in  them  ;  they  were  not  written  to  fill  up  a  gap  in  a  maga 
zine,  but  came  out  of  his  inmost  soul  and  had  to  do  with  his  under 
standing  of  the  eternal  verities.  There  is  an  apostle's  creed  in  every 
one  of  them,  and  nothing  that  he  has  written  since  is  without  the 
savor  of  the  same  gospel.  Mr.  Arnold  has  intense  convictions  and 
knows  how  to  express  them.  He  has  another  gift  in  which  the 
American  essayist  is  deficient — the  sense  of  relation.  To  see  this  at 
an  advantage  one  should  take  a  subject  in  which  the  two  writers  are 
mutually  interested.  Such  a  topic  is  found  in  Wordsworth's  poetry. 
Nothing  can  be  finer,  as  a  piece  of  critical  writing,  than  Whipple's 
paper  on  Wordsworth,  which  was  written  immediately  after  the  poet's 
death.  It  is  mellow  and  spiritual,  and  tempered  with  the  right  ideas 
throughout  ;  it  seems  as  if  the  critic  had  utterly  forgotten  himself 
in  the  writing  of  it ;  it  is  perhaps  the  most  sincere  and  genuine  bit  of 
work  that  Whipple  ever  did,  unless  the  essay  on  Hawthorne  be  an 
exception ;  but,  fine  and  masterly  as  it  is,  it  stands  by  itself ;  it  is  not 
so  written  that  Wordsworth  is  seen  and  felt  as  a  living  part  of  the 
development  of  English  thought  in  the  nineteenth  century. 

Dear  as  he  was  to  his  friends,  and  delightful  as  are  our  memories 
of  his  overflowing  wit  and  his  brilliant  conversations,  his  writings 
entirely  lack  the  elements  of  perpetuity.  His  essays  and  criticisms 
delight  for  the  moment,  but  are  related  neither  to  philosophy  nor 
religion,  nor  to  the  interpretation  of  the  life  of  humanity.  They 
entertain  one,  like  the  feats  of  the  athlete,  but  make  no  permanent 
impression,  and  carry  no  one  forward  in  any  direction.  They  have 
nothing  to  do  with  the  march  of  events,  the  progress  of  thought,  or 
the  comprehension  of  the  universe. 

JULIUS  H.  WARD. 


VITA  STRAINGE. 

THE  night  when  Vita  was  born — Vita  Strainge — youth  came 
back  to  her  father  and  mother.  Indeed,  they  were  like  children 
excited  over  the  discovery  of  a  fledgling  in  the  grass ;  and,  impru 
dently  enough,  they  spent  nearly  all  the  remaining  hours  of  dark 
ness  in  talk ;  making  plans  for  her ;  dreaming  audibly,  articulately, 
about  her  future  and  the  way  in  which  her  nature  should  unfold. 

Here  was  a  life,  at  last,  that  might  be  moulded  into  perfect 
happiness.  That  was  the  prevailing  idea  in  the  minds  of  Strainge 
and  his  wife  ;  for  Vita  was  to  be  an  exception,  of  course — like  all  the 
first-born.  Everything  which  they  had  once  hoped  to  realize  in 
their  own  careers,  but  had  hardly  accomplished,  would  reach  com 
plete  fruition  in  her.  Why  not  ?  It  would  be  like  the  plant  and 
its  bloom.  They  themselves  had  grown  up  to  a  certain  point  only  : 
doubtless  they  had  once  believed  that  they  might  become  blossoms, 
but  it  turned  out  that  they  were  the  fibrous  stuff  of  which  the  stalk 
is  made,  and  nothing  more.  Vita  was  the  flower.  It  was  she  who, 
springing  into  the  light,  brought  the  fulfilment  of  all  that  in  them 
had  been  mere  tendency  or  desire. 

"  We  will  call  her  Vita,"  half  whispered  her  mother — a  whisper 
as  full  of  joy  and  expectancy  as  an  early  summer  breeze  among  the 
tree-tops — "  because  she  is  life,  and  brings  new  life  to  us." 

This  was  sure  to  gain  the  sympathy  of  her  husband,  Burton 
Strainge,  and  he  agreed.  For,  though  shrewdly  practical  in  busi 
ness,  Strainge  was  a  man  in  whom  the  ideal  element  went  on  like 
the  delicate  vibration  of  a  musical  tone  long  after  the  key  from 
which  it  came  has  ceased  to  be  touched.  Starting  out  in  youth 
with  lofty  aims,  he  had  been  forced  to  spend  his  best  years  in  a 
long  conflict  for  a  livelihood,  which  merged  at  last  into  the  slavery 
of  care  entailed  by  the  desire  to  keep  the  wealth  he  had  gained. 

His  father,  a  well-to-do  tanner  in  northern  New  York,  cast  Bur 
ton  off  on  account  of  his  marriage  to  the  daughter  of  a  shiftless 
carpenter,  although  the  girl  was  singularly  refined  and  amiable. 
Then  Burton  bade  farewell  to  the  big  red  tannery  buildings  and  the 
rushing  river  and  the  hard-featured  homestead,  and  went  to  New 


VITA    STRA1NGE.  IO/ 

York.  The  metropolis,  to  many  young  countrymen,  is  like  a  dis 
tant,  wealthy  relative  of  whom  they  have  often  heard ;  a  millionaire 
uncle,  known  to  be  crusty  and  inhospitable,  but  given  to  sudden 
fits  of  generosity.  To  this  uncle  the  young  men  resort  in  their 
first  great  struggle,  each  imagining  that  he  is  the  particular  one 
who  is  to  benefit  by  the  old  fellow's  erratic  bounty.  But  the  purse- 
strings  were  not  loosened  for  Burton  Strainge ;  and  that  very  fact 
drove  him  straight  into  the  channel  of  fortune.  Out  on  the  New 
Jersey  meadows,  between  Newark  and  New  Brunswick,  there  stands 
a  big  factory  where  millions  of  labels,  in  all  the  colors  of  the  rain 
bow,  are  printed  by  machinery — labels  for  boxes,  bottles,  rolls  of 
cloth,  labels  for  fruit-cans  and  tomato-cans.  This  factory  represents 
the  labors  of  Strainge,  in  partnership  with  another  figurative  nephew 
who  had  been  disowned  by  the  universal  uncle,  in  building  up  a 
business  from  small  beginnings.  The  many-colored  labels  had  been 
rapidly  converted  into  bits  of  paper,  cheerfully  green  with  Govern 
ment  promise.  "  Thank  heaven ! "  thought  Strainge,  on  Vita's 
birthnight  ;  "  I  am  in  a  position  to  do  all  that's  possible  toward 
securing  my  little  girl's  future  and  smoothing  the  path  to  it."  Ease 
and  the  leisure  for  cultivation  were  beginning  to  have  their  way, 
but  it  was  Vita  who  was  to  enjoy  them  completely.  As  his  reverie 
upon  these  things  passed  off,  like  a  mist  rolling  up  from  a  sheet  of 
water,  Strainge  said  to  his  wife,  in  a  low  tone :  "  I  remember  how  I 
used  to  feel  a  sort  of  pity  for  my  father,  because  of  his  narrow 
horizon  and  limited  life.  Mine  were  to  be  so  much  more  brilliant ! 
But  now,  do  you  suppose  our  little  girl — our  Vita — will  ever  pity  us 
in  the  same  way  ?  " 

The  mother  smiled  faintly.  "  Perhaps.  But  I  shall  not  care,  if 
only  she  never  has  reason  to  pity  herself." 

An  end  to  night-shadows  and  night-talk,  and  dusky  tracings  of 
the  past  and  future !  The  happy  mother  slept.  Dawn,  beginning 
as  a  translucent  dimness,  grew  to  a  glory  in  the  eastern  sky,  and  the 
light  of  Vita's  first  day  rested  softly  on  the  slumbering  child's  face. 
It  was  a  light  of  quiet,  glad  surprise.  It  seemed  like  a  veiled  ray, 
shed  from  the  lantern  of  some  strong,  patient  watcher,  thrown  there 
to  aid  in  exploring  the  small  enigma  and  to  illuminate  its  meaning. 

Hundreds  of  times  the  same  soft  ray  returned  ;  and  under  its  in 
fluence,  or  in  response  to  its  gentle  inquiry,  Vita's  face  revealed  its 
growing  capacity  of  expression.  At  twenty  years,  this  was  what  it 
disclosed — a  broad,  calm  forehead  ;  slightly  waving  hair,  of  a  deep, 


108  VITA    STRAINGE. 

warm  hue,  like  the  lees  of  wine,  so  dark  that  you  had  to  look  twice 
before  you  were  sure  of  the  reddish  tinge  ;  eyebrows  nearly  black, 
but,  beneath  them,  brown  eyes  full  of  innocent  ardor.  The  mouth 
was  not  very  small ;  it  was  firm  when  in  repose,  but,  the  motnent  the 
lips  moved,  they  seemed  to  tremble  into  curves  of  exquisite  emotion 
— like  unforeseen  variations  upon  a  simple  melody.  Yet  no  one 
would  have  said  that  Vita  was  especially  an  emotional  young 
woman ;  and  her  complexion,  which  was  neither  rosy  nor  pale, 
strengthened  the  conviction  that  her  character  was  pretty  well 
balanced  between  the  practical  and  the  sentimental.  Neverthe 
less,  you  could  easily  divine  that,  stored  up  within  her  beautiful  in 
dividuality  and  within  her  graceful  figure,  there  dwelt  a  power  of 
passion  which  might  take  one  course  or  another,  unexpectedly. 

Burton  Strainge  did  not  live  to  look  very  long  upon  this  face  in 
its  youthful  perfection  ;  and  when  he  died,  suddenly,  his  will — made 
with  his  wife's  formal  concurrence — showed  that  he  had  left  the  bulk 
of  his  property — about  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars — to 
Vita,  with  only  a  small  annual  income  for  her  mother.  Vita  had 
been  most  elaborately  educated,  and  had  lived  in  Europe  for  a 
while,  with  her  mother ;  but  the  little  family  had  kept  their  home  in 
New  Brunswick.  Both  Strainge  and  his  wife,  however,  planned  for 
her  entrance  into  a  larger  sphere.  Their  visions  of  her  future  were 
not  yet  a  reality,  and  they  had  convinced  themselves  that,  in  order 
to  carry  out  their  dream,  she  must  connect  herself  with  the  world 
of  New  York  society.  The  great,  heartless  city,  which  had  rejected 
Burton  Strainge  as  a  young  man,  should  yet  find  itself  compelled  to 
recognize  his  daughter,  who — although  not  extremely  rich — had 
means  enough  to  make  herself  respected  there,  provided  she  formed 
a  suitable  matrimonial  alliance. 

"  Mind  you,"  Strainge  would  often  say,  "  nothing  is  to  be  sacri 
ficed.  We  will  not  force  her  inclinations  in  any  way.  She  must 
marry  for  love,  or  not  at  all.  But  a  good  deal  depends  on  the  sur 
roundings.  If  she  associates  with  unaristocratic,  uninfluential  people, 
she  will  marry  one  of  them,  of  course.  If  she  meets  the  other  kind, 
she  will  marry  one  of  them.  It  isn't  necessary  to  command  or  per 
suade,  but  just  arrange  the  surroundings." 

In  this  way  he  and  his  wife  had  assured  themselves  that  they 
were  not  going  to  use  undue  influence ;  and  Mrs.  Strainge  was  the 
first  to  propose  that  Vita  should  inherit  most  of  the  money  at  once. 
"  I  don't  want  some  young  fellow  dangling  around,"  she  declared, 


VITA    STRAINCE.  ICK) 

honestly,  "  and  paying  attention  to  me  because  he  knows  that  the 
property  is  in  my  hands  till  I  die,  and  will  go  to  Vita  afterwards." 

Perfect  confidence  existed  between  the  three;  and  Vita  was  fully 
informed  of  the  arrangement,  beforehand.  But  Strainge,  notwith 
standing,  thought  it  advisable  to  settle  a  small  income  upon  his 
wife.  The  scheme  was  unusual,  but  it  recommended  itself  to  the 
parents  as  one  which  would  secure  the  end  they  had  in  view.  Vita 
was  to  marry  into  a  family  having  social  position  in  New  York ;  and 
she  could  do  this  much  more  readily  if  she  appeared  as  the  actual 
possessor  of  a  snug  sum  than  if  she  were  merely  the  heiress  to  a 
moderate  fortune.  Strainge  died  happy  in  the  idea  that  the  victory 
for  which  he  had  fought  so  long  was  substantially  won. 

Naturally,  under  these  circumstances,  Walter  Stanton  was  re 
jected  when  he  offered  himself  to  Vita.  He  was  a  sturdy  young 
fellow,  short  of  stature,  fresh-complexioned,  with  a  troublesome 
habit  of  wearing  a  soft  felt  hat  and  expressing  opinions  as  uncom 
promisingly  frank  as  the  hat  itself ;  yet  all  the  while  he  was  nothing 
but  a  subordinate  in  a  large  New  York  house  that  dealt  in  varnish. 
When  Vita  refused  him,  he  took  the  result  with  unforeseen,  unpre 
meditated  dignity. 

"  I  know,"  he  confessed,  as  if  some  accusation  had  been  brought 
against  him,  "  I  am  not  good  enough." 

Vita's  lips  parted,  in  that  tremulous,  musical  way  of  theirs.  "  Oh, 
yes  ;  you  are  good  enough.  But — I  don't  love  you.  I  love  no  one 
but  my  father  and  mother.  I  don't  even  love  myself ;  so  why 
should  you love  me?  " 

"  I  don't  know  why,"  said  Stanton  ;  "  only  it  happens  that  way. 
I  do  love  you  and  I  can't  help  it." 

She  quivered  at  the  words.  It  was  delightful  to  hear  them,  yet 
it  pained  her,  too.  She  gave  him  his  dismissal. 

From  that  day  Stanton  became  studious,  as  well  as  increasingly 
diligent  in  business.  There  were  two  ways  of  winning  her,  he 
thought — by  growing  rich,  or  by  cultivating  his  mind,  so  that  he 
might  take  a  higher  position  of  some  sort.  To  make  sure,  he  re 
solved  to  pursue  both  ways. 

Burton  Strainge  having  died,  Vita  and  her  mother  prepared  to 
remove  to  New  York.  Their  interest  in  the  label-works  was  sold 
out,  and  the  two  women  were  now  ready  to  assume  their  place  as 
persons  of  leisure.  They  had  taken  apartments  in  town  ;  but,  before 
they  went  thither,  and  while  they  were  visiting  some  friends  on  the 


1 10  VITA    STRAINGE. 

banks  of  the  Passaic,  in  a  little  village  of  country-seats  which  had 
grown  up  deferentially  around  the  mansions  of  certain  old  Dutch 
families,  an  incident  occurred  which  had  an  important  effect  upon 
Vita's  destiny.  These  ancient  families,  their  connections  and  their 
friends,  were  now  people  of  great  consequence  in  New  York  society. 
One  of  the  branches  of  one  of  the  families  was  represented  by 
Anthony  Moment,  a  young  man  of  excellent  position — tall,  athletic, 
of  polished  manners,  yet  vivacious,  too.  He  was  a  man,  apparently, 
of  means.  He  had  no  very  exacting  business  occupation  beyond 
investing  his  property  sagaciously,  but  he  spent  a  fixed  number  of 
hours  at  his  office,  daily.  Nevertheless,  he  was  always  on  hand  at 
Viremont  (that  was  the  name  of  the  select  hamlet  of  villas)  early  in 
the  afternoon,  ready  to  play  lawn-tennis  on  the  greenswarded  pri 
vate  grounds,  shaded  by  lofty  trees,  which  were  maintained  in  com 
mon  by  the  residents.  In  these  daily  games  Vita  was  almost  con 
stantly  Moment's  partner  or  adversary. 

At  first  her  only  desire  was  to  have  her  own  side  win  the  game ; 
but  after  a  time  she  noticed  that  she  did  not  enjoy  victory  nearly  so 
well  if  it  involved  defeat  for  Moment ;  and  by  and  by  it  became  a 
positive  pleasure  to  be  defeated  by  him.  How  curious  this  was ! 
What  could  it  mean  ?  she  asked  herself.  In  a  word,  Vita  had  become 
subtilely  fascinated,  without  knowing  it. 

There  were  drives  and  walks,  and  there  was  boating  on  the  river ; 
and  when  the  day  for  a  special  match  at  the  amusement  grounds 
came,  after  long  preparation,  the  leaves  of  the  tall  trees  whispered 
above  their  heads,  and  the  ladies  who  saw  those  two  together  seemed 
inclined  to  emulate  the  example  of  the  talkative  leaves,  by  whisper 
ing  around  and  behind  the  pair.  There  was  some  diversity  of  opi 
nion,  of  course,  as  to  whether  a  union  between  Vita  and  the  young 
man  would  be  desirable.  Some  of  the  more  recent  dwellers  in  Vire 
mont,  and  especially  those  with  small  incomes,  whose  chief  social 
hold  was  in  the  fact  that  they  had  come  to  live  in  the  same  place 
with  the  Conteroys  and  Van  Sandhuysens,  and  had  been  recognized 
by  them — these  new-comers,  I  say,  were  greatly  in  favor  of  a  matri 
monial  engagement  which  now  seemed  so  probable. 

"  Miss  Strainge  is  a  lovely  girl  and  very  accomplished,"  said  they. 
"  And  Mr.  Moment  would  show  his  good  sense  if  he  married  her, 
instead  of  searching  for  a  wife  among  the  few  good-looking  girls  of 
old  family  who  don't  happen  to  be  related  to  him,  or  the  very  rich 
heiresses  who  would  like  to  be." 


VITA    STRAINGE.  Ill 

It  was  evident,  from  the  tone  of  remarks  like  this,  that  the  advo 
cates,  though  they  seemed  intent  chiefly  on  praising  Vita  and  approv 
ing  the  good  sense  which  Moment  was  possibly  going  to  show,  felt  like 
wise  that  Vita's  marriage  to  him  would  be  a  vicarious  victory  for  them. 

But  the  Conteroys,  and  other  persons  of  similarly  proud  position, 
shook  their  heads  a  little,  and  murmured  that  it  was  hardly  the  thing 
one  would  expect  Anthony  to  do.  The  Van  Sandhuysens,  owing  to 
Anthony's  being  a  relative,  felt  that  it  would  be  indelicate  to  discuss 
the  matter  at  all,  and  they  treated  Vita  and  her  mother  very  sweetly. 
On  this  account,  if  not  also  because  of  the  maiden's  own  charms,  the 
Conteroys  concluded  to  treat  her  sweetly,  as  well.  It  will  be  evi 
dent  to  all  impartial  observers  that  this  made  the  situation  perfectly 
agreeable  for  Vita. 

Stanton  still  kept  up  an  acquaintance ;  for,  as  we  have  seen,  he 
still  meant  to  win  her.  The  Strainges  had  said  that  they  hoped  to 
see  him  wherever  they  were  to  be  after  leaving  their  old  home ;  and 
this  hope  he  decided  to  repay  on  the  instalment  plan,  by  coming  to 
see  them  at  Viremont  first  of  all. 

"  You  seem  very  gay,"  Vita  said  to  him,  after  they  had  been 
chatting.  "  I  think  I  never  heard  you  talk  so  much,  or  so  well 
either.  Yes,"  she  added,  with  the  air  of  a  woman  who,  being  free 
from  all  further  thought  of  him  as  an  admirer,  could  properly  play 
the  patron  or  intellectual  connoisseur ;  "  yes,  certainly  you  have 
improved.  What  have  you  been  doing  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  he  answered,  with  good-humored  modesty,  "  reading — 
studying  a  little." 

"  Reading  up  for  conversation  ?  "  she  laughed.     "  What  else  ?  " 

"  Thinking  of  you." 

Then  she  looked  at  him  attentively,  with  rather  a  gentle  smile  ; 
flushed  very  faintly,  but  not  from  displeasure,  and  said :  "  If  you 
think  of  me,  that  is  something  you  must  not  talk  about.  But  on 
the  whole,  I  must  tell  you  that  you  are  not  even  to  think  of  me." 

Stanton,  although  they  were  out  of  doors,  uncovered  his  head, 
as  if  in  the  presence  of  authority.  "But  it  is  improving  for  me  to 
do  so.  Don't  you  want  me  to  go  on  improving?"  he  inquired,  with 
a  little  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"  Of  course,  for  your  own  sake." 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  you  what  I'll  agree  to,"  he  resumed.  "  I 
agree,  under  compulsion,  not  to  think  of  you  ;  but  I  will  come  to 
see  you  oftener,  and  that  will  be  still  more  improving." 


112  VITA    STRAINGE. 

Vita  reflected  that  he  had  really  become  brighter  than  she  at 
first  perceived.  But,  this  time,  she  did  not  tell  him  so ;  and  shortly 
afterward,  amid  the  fragrant  murmur  of  the  breezes,  and  the  splash 
of  waves  in  the  river,  along  which  he  had  come,  Stanton  disap 
peared  again,  rowing  himself ;  seeming  to  melt  away  and  become  a 
part  of  these  murmurs  and  wavelets  and  perfumes ;  not  at  all 
an  ungraceful  mode  of  disappearance,  you  will  admit,  and  one 
which  was  in  his  favor.  For  it  gave  Vita  a  pleasant,  dreamy  im 
pression  of  his  coming  and  going ;  and  she  quietly  set  it  down  in  her 
mind  that  he  was  to  be  expected  again  during  their  Viremont 
visit.  Just  when  he  would  come  she  did  not  inquire,  nor  care  very 
much ;  although,  now  and  then,  on  some  fresh  morning,  she  would 
idly  wonder  if  that  was  to  be  the  day. 

Anthony  Moment,  however,  had  the  advantage ;  and  something 
now  happened  which  made  him  suddenly  a  hero  to  her.  She  and 
her  mother  had  been  once  at  the  Van  Sandhuysens',  to  take  tea, 
and,  as  they  were  to  leave  Viremont  in  a  few  days,  Miss  Triphosia 
Van  Sandhuysen  had  resolved  upon  the  singularly  bold  and  unfore 
seen  step  of  inviting  them  to  pass  those  remaining  days  at  the  man 
sion  over  which  she  now  presided. 

Privately  she  had  said  to  a  younger  married  sister,  "  I  want  to 
see  more  closely  for  myself  what  that  girl  is.  She  looks  like  an  ac 
tress,  or  as  if  she'd  take  it  into  her  head  to  be  one  some  time,  with 
that  queer,  dark-red  hair  and  the  contrast  of  her  eyes  and  black 
eyebrows." 

This  being  repeated  by  the  younger  married  sister  to  her  cousin 
Anthony,  he  said,  "  If  she  looks  like  an  actress,  it  must  be  like  an 
actress  of  the  highest  order,  whose  gift  is,  impersonating  a  good  and 
beautiful  girl."  When  Vita  came,  he  was  tempted  to  ask  his  aunt, 
if  she  were  so  displeased  by  the  color  of  the  girl's  hair,  why  she  did 
not  lend  Vita  one  of  her  own  enchanting  wigs ;  but  he  denied  him 
self  the  pleasure. 

The  Sandhuysen  mansion  was  precisely  what  Vita  most  admired 
in  the  way  of  a  country-house.  It  was  a  square  old  edifice,  with  a 
porch  which  was  a  model  of  gravity,  and  a  high,  solid,  dormered  roof 
of  the  kind  that  seems  to  grow  darker  and  more  ponderous  as  years 
go  by,  with  the  conscious  pride  of  having  sheltered  so  many  mem 
bers  of  one  family ;  as  if,  in  short,  it  had  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with 
conferring  their  distinction  upon  them  (which  it  has).  At  the  front 
and  side,  beyond  the  drive,  lay  a  well-cropped  lawn  and  an  old-time 


VITA    STRAINGE.  113 

garden  on  a  stately  scale,  with  box  hedges  between  which  you 
would  naturally  expect  to  see  appearing,  at  almost  any  moment,  the 
dignified  ghost  of  some  ancient  Van  Sandhuysen,  out  for  a  consti 
tutional,  and  using  a  tall  staff  for  a  walking-cane.  The  land  sloped 
down  to  the  river,  near  the  margin  of  which  the  formal  garden  gave 
place  to  irregular  clumps  of  bushes,  open  spots,  and  thickets  with 
benches  in  their  shadow ;  a  huge  tulip-tree  slanting  across  the 
water-view  beyond.  Here  was  the  boat-house ;  and  here,  the  second 
morning  after  Vita's  arrival,  she  entered  the  boat  with  Anthony  for 
a  row  down  the  river. 

They  had  not  gone  very  far,  when,  at  a  bend  in  the  broad  stream — 
where  they  were  gliding  swiftly,  close  by  a  stretch  of  trees  that  hung 
their  long  branches  out  over  the  water,  and  almost  down  into  it — 
another  boat,  coming  in  an  opposite  direction,  shot  out  from  under 
the  arcade  of  drooping  boughs.  There  was  but  one  person  in  it ;  a 
man.  He  and  his  boat  had  been  screened  from  them  by  the 
branches,  a  moment  before  ;  so  that,  though  Vita  saw  him  now,  it 
was  too  late.  Anthony,  pulling,  with  his  back  to  the  other  man,  of 
course  could  not  see  him.  The  crash  of  the  collision  came  in 
stantly  ;  and  Vita,  who  was  too  much  surprised  to  jump  up  or  other 
wise  endanger  the  balance  of  their  own  boat,  saw  that  it  had  stove 
in  the  bow  of  the  smaller  one,  which  was  rilling,  and  sinking  with  a 
rush.  The  unknown  oarsman,  who  had  no  time  to  do  anything  for 
himself,  looked  around  swiftly,  startled  and  angry.  Vita  recognized 
him  as  Walter  Stanton  ;  but  she  had  just  done  so,  when  he  and  his 
boat  went  down  together.  It  was  a  plunge  and  one  loud  gurgle ; 
no  more. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Moment,  save  him,  save  him  ! "  she  cried ;  "  I  know 
that  man." 

"  Doesn't  he  swim  ?  "  Anthony  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Vita,  rather  indignantly.  "  I  only  see  that 
he  isn't  swimming  now." 

"  By  Jove,  that's  so  !  "  Moment  agreed.  "  He  doesn't  seem  to 
rise."  He  was  in  light  boating  costume,  favorable  to  a  dive  and  a 
rescue.  "  Take  the  oars,"  he  said,  "  and  try  to  keep  near  us."  And 
with  that  he  shot  overboard,  making  the  boat  rock  fearfully. 

Scarcely  had  he  disappeared  before  Stanton  came  to  the  surface, 
but  there  was  something  very  strange  in  his  appearance  and  beha 
vior.  He  had  a  bewildered,  half-conscious  look ;  he  moved  his  arms 
feebly — just  enough,  it  seemed,  to  buoy  him  up ;  but  he  remained 
7 


114  VITA    STRAINGE. 

in  one  spot,  the  tide  rippling  around  him  as  if  he  were  a  fixed  log. 
And  now  his  head  began  to  droop.  Anthony  Moment,  know 
ing  the  river,  had  slipped  into  it  with  a  shallow  dive,  and  had 
worked  his  way  back  toward  the  spot,  searching  with  his  eyes,  and 
dreading  lest,  any  instant,  he  should  feel  an  arm  or  a  leg  clutched 
by  the  drowning  man — which  would  make  an  end  of  them  both. 
Coming  up  to  breathe,  he  discovered  Stanton,  understood  the  situ 
ation  at  once,  and  dived  again.  He  soon  got  hold  of  Stanton's  foot, 
which  had  been  caught  in  a  long  projecting  root  of  one  of  the  over 
hanging  trees  twenty  feet  away.  He  freed  it,  and  rose  in  time  to 
prevent  the  owner  of  the  foot  from  sinking  again.  "  Hands  on  my 
shoulders  !  "  he  shouted  to  Vita's  friend.  Stanton  understood,  and 
flung  his  arms  listlessly,  yet  with  a  despair  that  made  Vita  shudder, 
upon  the  athlete's  shoulders ;  whereupon  his  head  drooped  again, 
and  he  became  unconscious.  Anthony  swam  with  him  to  the  shore ; 
but  it  was  no  small  struggle  to  get  him  there,  for  a  tide  ebbs  and 
flows  in  the  Passaic,  and  as  it  was  now  running  out  it  added  its  force 
to  the  natural  current,  making  one  of  those  stretches  like  flumes, 
but  less  rapid,  which  are  to  be  found  at  various  points  along  its 
course. 

This  double  current  had  another  effect.  Vita  found  it  impossible, 
with  her  small  strength  and  little  skill  in  rowing,  to  withstand  the 
stream.  She  kept  floating  farther  off,  farther  down,  during  the 
scene  which  had  enacted  itself  so  suddenly  there  ;  by  a  strange 
chance  putting  the  two  men  whom  she  knew  best  in  the  world — the 
two  who  seemed  to  have  become  her  lovers — into  peril  of  their  lives, 
and  leaving  her  in  a  solitude  of  dread.  She  was  too  far  off  to  give 
them  any  help  at  the  critical  moment ;  but  she  had  no  fear  for  her 
self,  being  convinced  that  she  must  sooner  or  later  drift  within  sight 
or  reach  of  some  one  who  would  bring  her  back.  Before  long,  how 
ever,  she  began  to  feel  water  about  her  feet ;  and  then,  indeed,  fear 
came  to  her.  The  boat  must  have  been  hurt  in  the  collision,  and 
had  sprung  a  leak ! 

Anthony  did  not  at  once  think  of  that,  when  he  saw  her  plight. 
But  by  the  time  he  had  gained  the  land,  deposited  Stanton  there,  and 
decided  to  hurry  along  the  bank  so  that  he  might  swim  out  to  her 
aid,  it  occurred  to  him  that  she  might  sink.  This  thought  helped 
him  to  double  speed,  as  he  flew  over  the  ground,  hurled  himself 
over  a  fence,  and  regained  the  water's  edge,  opposite  the  boat. 

He  was  panting  with  the  run ;  he  was  half  exhausted  by  the 


VITA    STRAINGE.  115 

severe  effort  and  the  terrible  excitement  of  the  rescue.  But  he 
hesitated  only  a  moment.  u  Pull  out  into  the  stream,"  he  called 
to  Vita,  knowing  that  by  doing  so  she  would  get  out  of  the  current. 

She  watched  him  coming,  after  the  long  sideward  spring  and 
headlong  plunge  that  had  carried  him  well  out  from  the  shore ; 
watched  him  as  he  swam  across  the  width  of  swifter  water  ;  and  she 
did  as  he  had  told  her  to,  although  it  seemed  cruel  and  inexplicable 
to  her  that  she  should  deliberately  pull  away  from  him,  making  the 
distance  longer  for  him.  At  that  moment — as  he  reached  through 
the  thick  flood  with  long  lunges  of  the  arm — she  felt  his  power. 
The  sense  of  it  overmastered  and  enveloped  her.  He  was  coming 
to  save  her,  but  it  seemed  also,  in  her  trembling  wonder  at  the  whole 
experience,  that  he  was  going  to  seize  her  for  his  own.  There  was 
something  of  surrender  mingled  with  the  rescue.  This,  though, 
lasted  but  for  a  minute.  She  was  soon  engrossed  in  the  ex 
citement  of  getting  back  to  shore  in  time  to  revive  Stanton.  For 
Anthony  Moment  was  in  the  boat  now,  and  bending  steadily  to  the 
oars.  He  laid  his  course  up  the  slower  part  of  the  tide,  worked 
quickly  across  the  race  and  got  in  among  the  arcaded  boughs  ;  then 
he  helped  Vita  ashore,  and  dragged  the  boat  far  enough  up  for 
safety.  It  was  a  third  full  of  water. 

Anthony  had  laid  Stanton  face  downward  across  a  tree-root 
which  raised  his  waist  higher  than  the  head.  A  terrible  chill  crept 
through  Vita,  at  the  prostrate  man's  look  of  death  ;  but  Anthony 
went  to  work  trying  to  start  respiration  in  the  poor  fellow's  lungs. 
Vita  helped  him  as  well  as  she  could.  It  was  a  hard  task  ;  but  at 
length  Stanton  came  to,  and  then  his  return  to  consciousness  was 
surprisingly  quick. 

"  I  was  coming  up  to  see  you."  he  explained  to  Vita.  "  I  was 
very  hot  from  rowing,  and  ran  my  boat  under  the  branches  there  to 
cool  off  before  going  ahead.  When  I  was  ready  to  go  on,  I  started 
out  through  the  narrow  opening  without  seeing  or  hearing  your  boat, 
and  " — his  voice  grew  faint — "you  know — " 

"  Yes  ;  don't  talk,  though.     Do  you  feel  weak?" 

He  nodded,  languidly. 

"  Let's  go  to  the  house,"  said  Anthony.  "  We  shall  have  to  walk, 
now." 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Vita,  suddenly  blushing,  and  all  the  warmth  of 
life  seemed  to  come  back  to  her  as  it  had  to  the  half-drowned  man. 
"  I  forgot !  This  is  Mr.  Moment.  He  saved  you." 


Il6  VITA    STRAINGE. 

Anthony,  smiling  in  embarrassment,  explained  :  "  There  was  no 
time  for  an  introduction." 

Stanton's  eyes  lighted,  and  he  held  out  his  hand.  "  Thank  you," 
he  said  ;  and  added  awkwardly,  as  if  he  were  dictating  his  signature 
to  those  words  of  gratitude :  "  Walter  Stanton." 

Anthony  took  the  hand,  cordially,  and  then  helped  him  to  rise. 
The  three  set  off  on  their  short  walk,  slowly  at  first,  the  one  drenched 
man  supporting  the  other  drenched  man,  and  Vita  going  on  Stan- 
ton's  other  side. 

Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that,  under  certain  circumstances,  it 
may  be  uncomfortable,  and  even  humiliating,  to  be  saved  from  death 
by  accidental  drowning  ?  Such  an  idea  had  never  before  crossed 
Walter  Stanton's  mind.  But  now,  ridiculous  though  it  seemed,  he 
could  not  get  over  a  feeling  of  mortification  that  he  had  been  drawn 
out  of  the  river  by  the  handsome  young  fellow  who  was  visiting  his 
remote  aunt  in  the  same  house  with  Vita.  He  was  taken  in  with 
commiserating  cordiality,  was  given  some  dry  clothes  which  did 
not  fit,  and  was  treated  to  a  restorative  luncheon,  with  wine  and 
brandy. 

But  Anthony  Moment  was  the  hero  of  the  hour.  He  himself 
was  merely  the  crude  and  somewhat  clumsy  material  of  the  morn 
ing's  romance  ;  Anthony  was  the  artist  who  had  handled  it  skil 
fully  and  now  got  all  the  credit.  It  was  clear,  too,  that  in  the  eyes 
of  Mrs.  Strainge  his  advent  at  the  house  in  such  a  piteous  and 
sensational  guise  was  regarded  as  an  intrusion — a  manner  of  making 
calls  which  was  in  bad  taste.  What  hurt  him  much  more  was  that 
Vita  could  not  conceal  her  admiration  of  Moment  and  his  splendid 
behavior,  as  her  eyes  followed  him  about,  or  while  she  repeated  the 
story  to  various  persons,  each  time  recalling  some  new  detail  of  his 
gallant  action. 

As  soon  as  he  could  obtain  his  garments  he  insisted — despite 
some  polite  protest — on  going  over  to  the  Viremont  station  and 
taking  the  train  home.  But  Anthony  insisted,  for  his  part,  on  driv 
ing  him  over,  and  with  him  Stanton  felt  more  at  ease.  When  they 
parted,  he  once  more  took  Anthony's  hand,  and  said,  with  an  emotion 
which  he  tried  to  control :  "  I  want  to  thank  you  again,  Mr.  Mo 
ment,  and  to  say  right  here  that— I  don't  know  that  my  friendship 
is  of  much  value  to  you,  but— I  shall  always  think  of  myself  as  your 
friend,  on  whom  you  may  count." 


VITA   STRAINGE. 

"  Thank  you,  too,"  Anthony  returned,  in  a  simple,  manly  way. 
"  I  am  sure  we  shall  be  friends." 

It  was  the  day  when  the  Strainges  were  to  say  good-by.  Vita 
was  alone  in  the  wilder  part  of  the  garden — why  had  she  gone  there? 
— when  she  beheld  Anthony  coming  down  one  of  the  box-hedged 
walks  towards  her.  She  had  been  thinking  much  of  him  since  the 
rescue  ;  in  truth,  she  had  dreamed  of  him.  If  she  were  not  dream 
ing  now,  had  she  come  out  here  to  think  still  further? 

In  his  soft  white  flannels,  with  a  loose  coat  of  different  tint  and 
a  little  flannel  cap,  there  was  an  easy  comfort  which  set  off  his 
strong  figure  well.  She  liked  to  see  him  in  this  costume  almost 
better  than  in  any  other.  The  luxurious  laziness  of  it  pleased 
her ;  for,  in  the  first  place,  it  spoke  of  the  atmosphere  in  which  she 
wanted  to  dwell,  and,  in  the  second  place,  she  was  not  deceived  by 
it,  because  she  knew  how  much  he  could  do  when  he  chose. 

The  young  man  was  equally  glad  to  see  her  in  the  dress  she  had 
chosen,  which  at  a  distance  looked  like  a  mist  of  delicately  prevail 
ing  lilac  colors. 

"  '  O  warble  me  now,  for  joy  of  lilac-time,'  "  he  murmured  to  him 
self,  as  he  advanced  ;  for  he  had  read  Whitman.  The  time  of  lilacs 
had  long  passed,  but  they  seemed  to  have  returned,  embodied  in 
Vita. 

"  You  have  a  nice  day  for  travelling,"  he  said. 

She  looked  at  him  mutely,  almost  as  if  he  had  wounded  her. 
"  Yes,"  said  she,  and  smiled  ;  but  her  lips  seemed  to  tremble  slightly. 
Still,  he  had  often  noticed  this  in  her,  and  could  not  tell  how  much 
it  really  expressed. 

"  It  may  sound  mean,"  he  went  on,  as  they  strolled  toward  a 
bench  (this  bench  was  not  in  sight  from  the  house) ;  "  but  I  hope 
you're  sorry  to  go." 

"  Both  glad  and  sorry,"  she  answered,  taking  a  place  on  the  bench 
and  giving  a  little  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  which  Miss  Triphosia  had 
described  as  one  of  her  actress  tricks.  "  I  am  longing  for  the  sea 
shore." 

And  then  they  talked  idly  for  a  while,  Anthony  standing  and 
looking  at  her  with  a  good  deal  of  intensity,  which  she  at  least  ap 
peared  not  to  notice.  But  as  their  conversation  was  not  especially 
novel,  it  need  not  be  repeated.  It  was  only  when  she  glanced  up 
swiftly,  and  said  :  "  Mr.  Moment !  "  that  the  tone  changed.  "  There 


IlS  VITA    STRAINGE. 

is  something  I  must  say  about — the  accident."  They  had  not  spoken 
of  this,  alone  together,  since  it  happened,  but  Vita  had  made  her 
acknowledgments  by  praising  him  to  others,  in  his  hearing. 

"  I  hope  you're  not  going  to  say  anything  laudatory,"  he  declared, 
in  a  nervous  way.  "  Really,  I —  " 

"  You  have  had  greatness  enough  thrust  upon  you,  I  suppose," 
she  broke  in.  "  Well,  I  wasn't  actually  drowning  " — and  here,  oddly 
enough,  she  laughed — "  so  I  am  not  sure  that  you  saved  my  life.  But," 
she  added,  becoming  serious  again,  "  I  feel  that  I  owe  it  to  you,  and 
I  wanted  to  tell  you  that,  before  going." 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  think,"  he  said,  hesitating,  "that  you  have 
any  such  pleasant  feeling  about  me — if  it  is  pleasant." 

"  Oh,  I  assure  you  it  is ! "  she  exclaimed,  frankly  ;  and  there  was 
no  doubting  her  eyes.  She  was  very  young,  and  had  not  much  con 
cealment  ;  but  she  was  frightened,  she  hardly  knew  why,  by  what 
she  had  said.  Her  eyes  fell,  and  she  asked,  timidly :  "  Why,  wouldn't 
you  be  pleased  at  having  your  life  saved  by  a  friend  ?  " 

Anthony  could  almost  have  laughed  aloud  in  his  delight,  yet  he 
had  never  felt  so  serious,  so  earnest,  as  he  did  just  then.  "  That  de 
pends.  Now,  if  you  had  saved  mine —  "  he  began. 

Their  eyes  met,  and  the  whole  story  was  told — told  in  so  far  that 
their  mutual  love  was  then  made  known. 

But  in  these  cases  the  electric  flash  of  passion  has  to  be  followed 
by  the  slower  train  of  mere  words,  even  though  the  train  sometimes 
goes  off  the  track. 

Vita's  head  sank,  and  she  listened  to  the  strong,  subdued  voice 
pouring  out  words,  sometimes  vehemently,  at  other  times  with  hesi 
tation,  but  always  bringing  the  same  refrain  to  her  heart.  He  loved 
her;  he  wished  her  to  marry  him  ;  he  tried  to  show  her  that  if  she 
did  so  she  would  do  much  more  than  save  his  life :  she  would  be  cre 
ating  his  life,  if  she  gave  him  her  own. 

At  last  she  answered  him.  "  I  think  a  great  deal  of  you.  I — I 
don't  know  why  I  cannot  say  anything  more ;  but — I  think  I  would 
like  to  wait." 

It  was  not  until  he  had  followed  her  to  the  sea-shore,  two  weeks 
later,  that  she  said  more.  Then,  one  evening  when  the  moon,  red 
dened  by  a  mist,  loomed  above  the  beach  and  searched  out  the  lurk 
ing  deep-red  hues  in  Vita's  hair,  she  answered  her  suitor  again. 
And,  as  the  moon  rose  higher  and  clearer,  it  shone  for  Vita  on  a  new 
world. 


VITA    STRAINGE.  1 19 

Mrs.  Strainge  thoroughly  approved  of  her  daughter's  choice. 
Vita  was  only  twenty-two,  but  it  was  all  the  better  that  happiness 
should  come  to  her  early,  in  so  secure  a  form.  For  Moment  was 
well  off  and  had  no  immediate  family ;  there  were  only  the  distin 
guished  cousins  and  remote  aunts,  and  he  had  many  wealthy  friends 
of  excellent  position.  Moreover,  he  proposed  that  as  soon  as  Vita 
and  he  should  be  settled,  Mrs.  Strainge  should  come  to  live  with  them. 

Vita  herself,  when  Stanton  had  vanished  for  the  second  time,  and 
again,  when  she  was  considering  Anthony's  proposal,  had  experienced 
a  puzzling  feeling  about  her  first  admirer,  which  she  finally  analyzed 
as  being  pity.  She  had  asked  herself  whether  she  was  unduly  daz 
zled  by  the  difference  in  Anthony  Moment's  prospects  and  high  con 
nections,  but  she  became  sure  that  she  loved  him  only  for  himself, 
his  character  and  heroism.  "Am  I  not  independent?"  she  thought. 
"  I  have  no  need  to  be  dazzled.  I  choose  him  because  I  love  him." 

Anthony  would  not  hear  of  living  in  the  apartments  which  had 
been  engaged.  "  My  dear,"  he  said,  "  it  would  hardly  comport  with 
our  position.  We  must  have  a  house."  And  he  secured  one,  which 
they  fitted  up  with  a  good  deal  of  elegance  in  a  quiet  taste.  The 
wedding,  in  the  autumn,  satisfied  even  those  rigorous  persons  who 
write  the  chronicles  of  society  for  the  Sunday  papers.  The  Van 
Sandhuysens,  the  Conteroys,  and  every  one  else  were  there,  who 
could  add  the  lustre  which  Vita  and  her  husband  and  mother  be 
lieved  in  :  and  when,  after  the  honeymoon,  Vita  was  at  home  in  the 
new  house,  Mrs.  Strainge,  agreeing  that  it  was  wiser  and  more  con 
venient  to  combine  their  resources,  came  to  live  with  them,  the 
apartment  having  been  re-let. 

The  new  world  on  which  the  moon  had  risen  for  Vita  was  now 
flooded  with  sunshine,  too.  It  must  be  added  that  gas-light  mingled 
with  the  varied  illumination  ;  for,  besides  Vita's  receptions,  there 
were  other  at-homes,  teas,  evening  receptions,  and  balls — to  say,  no 
thing  of  the  opera,  the  theatres,  and  private  theatricals  which  had 
charity  for  all  and  only  a  little  malice  toward  any  one.  The  exhila 
ration  of  all  this,  to  Vita,  was  very  great.  There  was  not  much  ele 
gant  leisure  about  it,  such  as  Burton  Strainge  had  hoped  for ;  it 
was,  however,  elegant  activity.  Vita  accepted  it  as  a  very  cheerful 
form  of  culture,  besides ;  although  it  left  little  room  for  the  culture 
of  reading  and  thinking.  But  why  shouldn't  she  like  it,  since  she 
herself  was  a  success  ?  For  Vita  went  nearly  everywhere  that  she 
wanted  to  go,  and  captivated  nearly  every  one. 


120  VITA   STRAINGE. 

"  What  a  pity  it  is,"  said  her  mother  to  her  one  night  as  she  sat 
before  the  fire,  dressed  to  go  out,  and  waiting  for  the  carriage, 
"  that  your  father  could  not  have  lived  to  see  all  this.  He  would 
have  been  so  proud.  And  how  he  would  have  enjoyed  it !  " 

Vita  did  not  answer  at  once.  She  shook  her  head,  and  smiled 
with  a  gentle  sadness.  "  Do  you  think  he  would  have  enjoyed  it  ?  " 
she  asked,  and  then  sighed  :  "  I  know  he  would  have  been  proud, 
but — poor  dear  papa !  " 

Instantly  there  came  into  the  mother's  mind  that  query  of  his  on 
the  birthnight :  "  Do  you  suppose  she  will  ever  pity  us?"  and  she 
knew  that  the  time  had  come.  Vita  was  looking  back  and  pitying 
her  father,  as  a  man  who  would  scarcely  have  felt  himself  a  fitting 
part  of  her  gay  and  splendid  world.  Mrs.  Strainge  remembered  how 
she  had  said  to  Burton  that  she  would  not  be  sorry  even  if  their 
child  did  pity  their  inferiority  ;  and  indeed,  she  thought,  with  a  slight 
pang,  how  could  she  be  sorry  since  Vita  was  so  joyous  ? 

The  young  wife  herself,  in  these  days,  often  came  back  to  the  re 
flection  that  her  father  would  have  been  proud.  She  knew  some 
thing  about  Burton  Strainge's  ambition,  and  his  pride  now  became 
hers.  She  liked  to  fancy  that  his  spirit  was  with  her,  leading  her 
on.  But  sometimes  it  led  her  farther  than  her  husband  wanted  to 

go- 
Anthony  Moment  was  obliged  to  give  some  time  to  business,  and 
the  management  of  his  own  and  his  wife's  property.  In  the  begin 
ning  she  had  said  to  him  :  "  You  know  this  money  is  all  mine,  but  I 
don't  understand  how  to  take  care  of  it,  and  sha'n't  have  time  to, 
with  all  my  social  duties." 

"  I  will  take  care  of  it,"  said  Anthony. 

"  Yes  ;  put  it  with  yours.  It  will  be  safe  there.  Your  affairs  are 
prosperous,  are  they  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed.  It  would  be  odd  if  they  were  not,  now."  He 
gave  her  a  kiss,  which  seemed  to  be  the  only  seal  needed  to  the 
agreement. 

He  seldom  said  anything  about  his  operations,  and  this  caused 
everything  to  go  on  with  serenity  at  home.  He  devoted  a  good  deal 
of  time  to  his  horses,  and  had  his  clubs  to  attend  to,  as  well  as  the 
business  affairs  ;  and  the  clubs,  as  Vita  understood,  were  an  essential 
part  of  their  social  outworks,  in  the  general  position  which  they 
held.  But  Anthony,  notwithstanding  these  occupations,  was  nearly 
always  at  her  command  for  most  of  the  social  engagements  where 


VITA    STRAINGE.  121 

she  needed  him,  and  was  quite  ready  to  go  to  the  opera  with  her, 
being  a  devoted  husband  in  these  as  in  other  ways. 

So,  at  any  rate,  matters  proceeded  during  the  first  year.  In  the 
next  year  Vita's  child  was  born — a  daughter,  who  came  in  the 
spring — and  the  summer  was  passed  in  the  country,  more  quietly 
than  any  of  their  time  had  been  until  then.  Naturally,  Vita  took 
less  part,  also,  in  the  gayeties  of  the  winter  season  that  followed  ; 
and  when  their  daughter  died,  after  little  more  than  a  year,  the 
deep  shadow  of  that  loss  shut  out  Anthony  and  his  wife  from  the 
blaze  in  which  they  had  been  moving. 

Of  Walter  Stanton  they  had  seen  nothing  since  their  marriage ; 
but  he  wrote  them  now  a  letter,  exquisitely  tender,  in  sympathy  with 
their  suffering.  He  had  not  come  to  the  wedding,  but  had  sent, 
afterward,  a  simple  card  of  congratulation.  The  reason  for  this 
was  as  well  known  to  Anthony  as.to  Vita,  since  she  had  long  before 
told  him  of  Stanton's  aspiration  ;  and  neither  of  them  missed  their 
absent  friend.  But  they  did  not  know  the  struggle  it  had  cost  him, 
even  to  send  that  card.  In  his  heart  he  said  :  "  I  do  not  congratulate 
them.  Why  should  I  pretend  to?"  and  the  fight  went  on  in  him 
for  some  time.  It  seemed  to  him  an  unpardonable  offence  in  this 
man  to  have  saved  his  life  and  destroyed  his  hopes.  Vita's  choice, 
moreover,  was  unspeakably  cruel ;  it  was  almost  as  if  there  were 
malice  in  it.  He  fancied  that  if  she  had  married  any  one  else  it 
would  have  been  very  different.  Can  you  tell  why  he  had  this 
feeling?  I  cannot,  logically,  but  I  think  most  of  us  would  have 
had  it  under  the  same  circumstances.  He  conquered  it,  finally,  con 
vincing  himself  that  he  was  in  a  manner  glad  of  anything  that  made 
her  glad. 

And  now  came  this  letter,  which  they  both  felt  to  be  a  forgive 
ness  to  them — for  what?  Well,  for  his  having  felt  bitter.  It 
touched  them  deeply,  nevertheless,  and  they  wrote  to  thank  him 
together. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  see  him  ?  "  Anthony  asked  his  wife. 

"  Not — now,"  she  answered,  slowly ;  believing  that  it  would  be 
better  never  to  see  him.  But  she  read  the  letter  many  times,  and 
thought  of  him  with  a  new  appreciation  of  something  in  him  to 
which  she  had  never  done  justice. 

It  was  only  after  they  emerged  from  the  period  of  retirement 
caused  by  their  sorrow  that  differences  arose  between  Vita  and  her 
husband  as  to  the  scale  of  their  expenses  and  the  things  they  should 


122  VITA    STRAINGE. 

do  or  not  do.  It  was  now  that  her  thirst  for  society,  her  desire  for 
power,  her  pride,  took  on  alarming  proportions. 

Anthony  knew  that  they  had  for  some  time  been  living  beyond 
their  income.  He  had  begun  on  that  plan  almost  at  once,  because 
he  wished  to  gratify  Vita ;  but  also,  perhaps,  because  of  a  weakness 
which  made  him  unwilling  to  fall  short  of  the  estimate  she  had 
made  as  to  his  position.  With  their  "  combined  resources  " — the 
phrase  which  he  had  once  used  to  Mrs.  Strainge — he  kept  hoping 
that  he  should  make  up  the  deficiency  through  some  fortunate  turn, 
not  of  the  stock-market — for  that  he  dreaded — but  in  some  one  of 
his  ventures.  Now,  to  make  up  a  deficiency  was  the  one  thing  he 
could  not  do ;  had  never  done.  He  had  lost  a  good  deal  of  his 
own  formerly  moderate  possessions,  and  he  did  not  know  how  to 
work.  He  was  still  running  behind,  now. 

Vita  began  giving  more  showy  entertainments:  she  ordered 
costlier  dresses.  "My  dear  child,"  he  said  to  her,  "instead  of 
doing  that  we  ought  to  be  cutting  down." 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  she  inquired,  indignantly.  "Isn't  there 
all  my  property  to  support  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  the  income  won't  be  enough." 

"  Well,  then,  there's  yours.     Our  combined  resources " 

What  could  he  say?  He  had  taken  a  fatal  path,  and  he  dared 
not  confess.  His  weakness  returned ;  his  old  desire  to  stand  high, 
not  to  shatter  any  vision  inspired  by  himself.  Before  long,  instead 
of  opposing,  he  began  to  share  his  wife's  schemes  with  an  excite 
ment  even  keener  than  hers. 

He  launched  an  ambitious  building  enterprise ;  increased  his 
daily  outlay  lavishly ;  but  his  rents  did  not  come  in  satisfactorily 
from  the  new  enterprise.  Then  he  sold  some  real-estate  privately, 
and  began  to  twist  and  turn,  conducting  everything  with  caution, 
so  as  to  conceal  what  he  was  about.  He  borrowed  money,  and 
then  borrowed  in  small  sums  to  pay  the  interest.  When  these 
small  sums  were  due,  he  borrowed  from  another  friend  to  repay  the 
first. 

"  Don't  you  think  it's  rather  queer  ?  "  young  Scott  Conteroy 
asked  a  friend  at  his  club.  "  Last  night  Moment  asked  me  to  lend 
him  five  hundred.  Of  course,  I  gave  it  to  him,  but— 

"Oh,  it's  nothing.  That's  like  my  borrowing  five  dollars  if  I 
were  out  late.  Five  hundred  is  only  cab-money  for  Anthony 
Moment,  nowadays." 


VITA    STRAINGE.  12$ 

"  Well,  I  thought  it  was  a  small  sum  for  him  to  be  borrowing," 
said  Conteroy.  "  That's  what  was  queer." 

But  there  were  queerer  things  than  that.  Anthony  had  at  last 
mortgaged  everything.  Frequently,  now,  he  took  away  with  him, 
in  going  down  town,  some  of  Vita's  most  valuable  jewelry,  to  be 
cleaned  or  repaired  by  a  special  man  he  knew  of,  and  he  was  very 
forgetful  about  bringing  it  back. 

In  a  quiet  office  on  Broadway,  with  a  quiet  staircase,  a  man 
named  Gathers  did  business  behind  a  sign  which  announced  him  as 
a  dealer  in  watches.  That  was  all  that  appeared  in  the  outer  room ; 
but  to  the  initiated  Gathers  was  known  as  a  select  pawnbroker;  and 
there  was  an  interior  office,  entered  by  a  door  so  placed  that  any 
one  wishing  to  go  in  could  do  so  while  seeming  to  be  going  up  or 
down  stairs.  From  that  inner  room  Gathers,  returning  one  day  to 
the  large  office,  said  to  a  confidential  friend : 

"  That  was  Anthony  Moment.  He's  putting  up  everything  now ; 
wife's  jewelry  and  his  own — everything.  Then  he'll  come  and  take 
the  jewelry  out,  and  bring  it  back  again.  Why,  I've  known  him  to 
borrow  the  money  to  take  his  mortgaged  horses  on  to  Newport. 
He's  mortgaged  his  church-pew,  too — up  in  St.  Visigoth's;  and,  if 
you'll  believe  me,  he's  mortgaged  his  cemetery-lot.  Yes,  sir." 

Yet,  even  when  he  had  come  to  this  pass,  Anthony  was  able  to 
keep  afloat  for  months  longer.  Of  course,  it  could  not  continue, 
and  by  this  time  Vita  had  been  forced  to  diminish  her  luxuries  and 
displays  considerably,  from  sheer  lack  of  money,  and  from  excess  of 
credit  given  on  accounts  which  she  supposed  to  have  been  paid. 
Anthony  explained  it  as  an  embarrassment,  inevitable  at  times ;  and 
she,  all  sympathy  at  this  confession,  began  to  retrench. 

Then  came  a  day  when  Gathers  said  to  his  confidential  friend, 
as  a  dusky  figure  slipped  out  upon  the  staircase :  "  Moment  wanted 
to  borrow  five  dollars  to  carry  him  over  Sunday.  I  wouldn't  do  it." 

In  ^truth,  it  was  as  if  Anthony  had  been  living  in  an  immense 
egg  and  had  eaten  out  all  the  meat.  Nothing  but  the  shell  was  now 
left ;  and  that  was  about  to  be  crushed. 

He  no  longer  took  Vita  and  her  mother  to  Newport,  but  to  a 
modest  place  on  the  Sound,  where  they  boarded.  The  autumn  had 
been  full  of  glorious  colors,  but  the  leaves  were  all  gone  now  ;  and 
Vita  was  sitting  at  the  window,  in  the  afternoon,  enjoying  the  cool, 
soft  colors  of  November — the  delicately  gray  tree  trunks  ;  the  silent, 
shrouded  light  on  the  inlet,  foretelling  snow,  and  the  blue  Sound 


124  VITA    STRAINGE. 

beyond  the  Neck.  Anthony  came  out  from  town  and  said  to  her : 
"  We  must  leave  this  place." 

"  Leave  ?     Why  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  money  left." 

"  Anthony  !  " 

"  No,  none.     It  is  all  gone — yours,  too." 

The  gray  sky  darkened  slightly.  There  came  a  gust  against  the 
window,  showering  handfuls  of  small  round  flakes  on  the  painted  roof 
below  the  sill.  Winter  had  begun. 

At  first,  Vita's  grief  and  wrath  were  dumb.  There  was  her  hus 
band,  not  quite  as  stalwart  as  formerly  ;  rather  careworn  ;  still  hand 
some,  but  utterly  shattered  in  her  sight.  And  it  was  only  five  years 
since —  Her  despair  and  contempt  burst  forth  in  burning  words, 
and  he  could  not  face  her. 

"  Ah,  if  he  were  only  strong !  "  she  cried  to  her  mother,  when  he 
had  gone.  "  Strength  might  have  been  borne.  But  this  weakness 
will  kill  me!" 

Anthony  did  not  reappear.  As  a  last  resort  he  had  gone  to  his 
rich  relations ;  but  they  had  been  only  distant  ones,  at  the  best,  and 
they  were  now  more  distant  than  ever.  He  stayed  in  New  York, 
making  no  effort  to  hide ;  he  had  ruined  his  life,  and  had  not  the 
courage  to  carry  the  fragments  elsewhere.  But  no  one  saw  him. 
Vita  and  her  mother  followed  him  to  the  city,  and  took  obscure 
lodgings ;  for  everything  was  gone,  and  they  had  now  only  Mrs. 
Strainge's  small  interest  to  live  on. 

Every  atom  of  her  love  for  the  man  who  had  so  treacherously 
and,  as  she  thought,  sordidly  wronged  her  seemed  to  have  departed 
from  her.  "  I  will  have  him  put  in  prison  !  "  she  declared,  fiercely,  to 
her  mother,  who  found  that  she  was  powerless  to  prevent  it.  Vita 
consulted  a  lawyer;  Anthony  was  found;  and,  after  due  process,  was 
put  into  Ludlow  Street  Jail. 

Vita  returned  to  her  lodging,  shaken,  worn  out,  made  miserable  by 
her  triumph.  But,  as  she  had  fancied  that  her  father's  pride  had  been 
with  her  approvingly  in  her  short  prosperity,  so  she  now  tried  to 
console  herself  and  her  mother  by  believing  that  he  would  have 
been  gratified  by  this  revenge.  For  two  days  she  did  not  stir  from 
the  house.  On  the  third,  a  card  was  brought  to  her  from  a  gentle 
man  who  waited  below.  It  was  Stanton. 

"  Why  does  he  come  now  ?  "  she  said  to  her  mother.     "  Is  he 


VITA    STRAINGE.  12$ 

mean  and  treacherous,  too  ?  He  has  come  to  see  me  in  my  misfor 
tune,  because  I  did  not  marry  him.  I  will  not  go  down  ! " 

But  Stanton  would  not  be  put  off.  He  sent  up  another  message : 
"  I  beg  you,  come.  You  ought  to  hear  me." 

She  went  down,  and  for  an  instant  forgot  everything  else  in  sur 
prise  at  the  change  in  him.  He  looked  much  older  ;  his  manner 
was  serious  and  reserved ;  he  was  dressed  as  becomes  a  man  well-to- 
do.  And,  as  she  took  his  hand,  she  said  involuntarily :  "  Am  /  so 
changed,  too  ?  " 

Upon  his  face  there  was  only  the  shadow  of  a  long-forgotten 
smile,  as  he  answered :  "  No,  I  don't  think  you  can  ever  change." 
He  paused  only  a  breath's  space  before  continuing:  "  I  have  come, 
Mrs.  Moment,  to  ask  you  to  pardon  him — to  let  him  out  of  jail." 

She  shrank  and  trembled,  touching  a  chair  with  one  hand.  "  My 
— husband  ?  No  !  I  will  die  before  I  will  forgive  him !  " 

Stanton  looked  at  her  patiently.  In  secret  his  eye  was  following 
those  musical  curves  of  her  lips,  drinking  in  the  light  of  her  eyes, 
her  face  and  hair.  Then  he  said  :  "  Let  me  change  those  words  a 
little.  You  \\\\\  forgive  him  before  you  die" 

"  Never,"  declared  Vita,  more  firmly.  "  I  could  have  forgiven  a 
great  deal,  but  not  this.  He  is  a  coward!  " 

There  was  a  flash  like  resentment  in  Stanton's  glance  ;  but  it 
died,  and  he  answered,  "  He  did  not  use  to  be  a  coward,  in  one  way. 
He  saved  my  life,  and,  I  think,  yours." 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  but  he  has  destroyed  mine,  now.  Why  do  you  come 
to  ask  this  ?  " 

"Because  it  is  right,"  said  Stanton;  "and  because  I — I  do  not 
want  you  to  be  more  unhappy  than  you  need.  It  can  do  no  good  ; 
you  will  not  recover  your  property,  and  you  will  only  make  yourself 
wretched  by  revenge." 

"  My  father  would  have  wished  it,  I  know — I  am  sure,"  she  re 
torted.  And  the  hardness  that  came  into  her  face  was  like  that  of 
Burton  Strainge  in  his  grim  moments. 

"  Well,"  said  Stanton,  turning  to  go,  "  you  refused  the  only  other 
petition  I  ever  made.  I  hope  you'll  consider  this  one." 

He  went  to  the  prison  and  saw  Anthony.  What  a  meeting  with 
his  rescuer,  after  years  of  strangership  !  But  he  did  nothing  to  show 
that  he  was  aware  of  any  difference  in  the  surroundings. 

*'  How  are  you  doing  now  ?  "  Anthony  asked  him,  presently. 

"  I  am  doing  well — almost  rich,  for  me,"  was  the  quiet  answer. 


126  VITA    STRAINGE. 

"  I  told  you  I  was  your  friend.  Why  didn't  you  come  to  me  for  the 
little  help  I  could  give,  or  for  sympathy  ? "  Anthony  wrung  his 
hand.  "  I  want  your  wife  to  let  you  out,"  Stanton  concluded. 

"  Why  ? "  said  Anthony.  "  Forgive  me  ?  What  use,  when  I 
can't  forgive  myself  ?  " 

"  That's  the  very  reason,"  said  Stanton,  dryly. 

A  boy  passed  the  open  cell,  shoving  a  basket  on  the  gallery-rail. 
"  Bread  ?  "  he  shouted,  questioningly.  Another  came  along  with  a 
huge  can,  and  shouted  "  Tea."  This  was  the  food  for  the  prisoners 
who  bought  their  own  fare.  Anthony  took  neither. 

Stanton  went  away,  and  the  next  morning  a  hamper  arrived  for 
Anthony,  containing  bread,  cooked  meats,  wine,  and  fruit.  This  was 
repeated  each  day,  and  so  were  Stanton's  visits.  He  kept  going 
back  and  forth  between  Vita's  poor  abode  and  the  prison,  sometimes 
carrying  trivial  little  messages  about  some  necessary  detail ;  and  he 
also  gained  Mrs.  Strainge's  aid  in  persuading  Vita.  But  Vita  seemed 
pitiless  ;  or,  at  least,  unchangeable. 

At  last  she  was  taken  ill,  and  a  dangerous  fever  developed.  She 
lay  wrapped  in  its  deadly  glow  for  two  or  three  weeks,  sometimes 
more  clear  in  mind  than  at  others,  but  always  in  danger.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  fire  of  her  life,  turned  inward,  were  consuming  her ;  and 
once,  when  Stanton  was  allowed  to  see  her,  he  had  a  strange  fancy 
that  the  heat  of  fever  possessing  her  whole  frame  made  her  look  like 
a  burning  human  coal,  alive  in  its  own  dying.  He  had  the  papers  for 
Anthony's  release  all  ready  and  a  notary  in  attendance,  in  case  she 
should  relent  at  any  hour.  It  was  well ;  for  she  awoke  one  morning, 
saying  that  she  felt  better.  "  Where  is  Anthony?  "  she  asked,  look 
ing  around  ;  and  then,  as  she  comprehended  ;  "  Oh,  bring  him  to 
me !  I  forgive,  forgive  !  " 

With  difficulty  she  signed  the  papers  ;  and  to  Stanton,  hurrying 
out,  the  doctor  whispered  :  "  She  cannot  live." 

An  hour  or  two  later,  Anthony,  a  free  man,  returning  with 
Stanton,  knelt  at  her  bedside.  She  laid  one  hand  on  his  head  and 
smiled  almost  rapturously.  " .  .  .  .  Have  forgiven,"  she  whispered, 
and  her  spirit  passed.  The  burning  shape  of  life-heat  had  become 
ashes  which  still  retained  their  lovely  form. 

And  there,  both  in  her  presence  at  the  same  time,  as  they  had 
never  been  but  once  before,  were  the  two  men  ;  one  who  had  loved 
her  and  robbed  her,  and  one  who  had  loved  her  and  reunited  them 
— there,  on  the  threshold  of  death  and  the  threshold  of  new  life. 

GEORGE  PARSONS  LATHROP. 


CRITICISMS,  NOTES,  AND   REVIEWS. 


THE  INTERVIEW. 

IT  seems  to  be  demonstrated  by  the  history  of  newspapers  in  this  coun 
try  that  the  influence  attaching  to  wide  circulation  is  directly  proportioned 
to  the  extent  and  accuracy  with  which  the  news  is  reported.  Whatever  that 
variable  quantity  may  be,  "  the  news  "  is  universally  supposed  to  include  the 
opinions  of  men  of  moment  upon  current  events,  however  expressed.  This 
is,  of  course,  the  editor's  vocation — he  comments  upon  the  significance  of 
events,  giving  his  opinion  as  a  trained  observer  with  certain  known  political 
or  other  predilections.  But  the  impression  upon  others  more  directly  con 
cerned  in  the  act  recorded,  or  more  specially  qualified  to  judge  of  it,  contri 
butes  to  a  more  perfect  interpretation.  The  interview  has  been  devised  for 
the  collection  of  such  impressions,  as  the  newspaper  is  at  hand  to  disseminate 
them.  When  it  is  considered  that  the  point  and  timeliness  of  these  opinions 
often  depend  upon  their  being  prepared  and  printed  in  the  space  of  a  few 
hours,  or  even  minutes,  it  is  obvious  that  occasions  are  constantly  arising 
when  the  interview  is  the  most  convenient,  effective,  and  available  method  of 
communication  between  a  person  who  has  something  to  say  and  the  people 
who  will  be  benefited  or  entertained  or  interested  by  having  it  said. 

Then,  too,  the  interview  is  about  the  only  means  by  which  the  public  can 
learn  some  things  which  it  has  a  distinct  right  to  know  and  which  it  is  the 
interest  of  designing  persons  to  conceal.  To  take  a  recent  example,  it  is 
hardly  an  exaggeration  to  say  that  the  newspapers  of  New  York  furnished 
the  evidence  on  which  the  bribed  alderman,  Jaehne,  was  indicted,  convicted, 
and  sentenced  ;  and  in  that  dramatic  episode  there  was  no  more  effective 
"business"  than  an  interview  reluctantly  granted,  which  was  reproduced  by 
the  million  copies  over  the  land,  and  created  an  irresistible  public  sentiment 
against  the  shameless  sale  of  office. 

These  interviews — they  are  only  specialists'  editorials  with  a  personal 
interest  added — are  not  published  because  the  editors  like  them,  but  because 
people  read  them,  talk  about  them,  buy  them.  Newspapers  are  only  inci 
dentally  agents  of  philanthropy.  They  are,  like  railroads,  public  conve 
niences,  which  must  be  made  to  pay  their  way  or  go  down  in  the  effort. 
They  are,  therefore,  just  what  their  readers  make  them.  Like  popularly 
elected  representatives,  they  cannot  be  long  or  in  a  marked  degree  superior 
or  inferior  to  the  people  by  whom  they  are  supported,  or  out  of  sympathy 
with  them.  They  are  as  sensitive  as  possible  to  the  tastes  and  morale  of  the 


128  CRITICISMS,  NOTES,  AND  REVIEWS. 

community  in  which  they  are  published.  A  refined  and  cultivated  com 
munity  has  refined  and  cultivated  newspapers  ;  a  coarse  and  vulgar  com 
munity  has  papers  to  match,  and  savages  have  none. 

It  is  thus  the  newspaper's  interest  no  less  than  its  purpose  to  serve  and 
please  the  greatest  number  of  readers.  As  the  majority  of  intelligent  people 
hate  to  be  deceived,  enterprise  in  news-gathering  is  only  of  value  when  the 
news  is  correctly  reported,  otherwise  the  paper  is  discredited,  and  possibly 
grave  injury  done  to  itself  as  well  as  others.  No  newspaper  wishes  to  publish 
anything,  though  it  be  of  such  a  nature  as  to  bring  it  into  the  hands  of  every 
citizen,  if  it  can  be  proved  untrue  the  next  day.  The  risk  is  too  great.  Any 
body  who  has  ever  been  inside  a  newspaper  office  knows  that  there  is  always 
abundance  of  material  that  would  be  most  entertaining  reading  and  of  a  cha 
racter  to  excite  universal  interest  which  is  made  unavailable  by  some  defect 
in  the  proof  of  its  actual  truth.  The  laws  of  retribution,  the  written  laws  of 
libel,  and  the  unwritten  laws  of  competition  and  self-interest  prevent  the  pub 
lication  of  most  of  that  which  is  not  true,  or  at  least  very  probable.  It  is 
perhaps  not  too  much  to  say  that  ninety-nine  hundredths  of  all  that  is  pub 
lished  by  reputable  papers  is  demonstrably  true,  and  that  a  large  part  of  the 
remainder  is  highly  probable.  Most  people,  to  judge  from  common  talk,  do 
not  believe  this.  They  think  a  paper  would  as  soon  print  falsehood  as  truth, 
so  its  columns  were  filled.  Men  declare  the  papers  are  choked  with  lies 
because  of  a  single  mistake  in  a  column  of  names,  and  some  very  amiable 
moralists  pretend  to  believe  that  people  would  go  on  buying  a  paper  that 
had  no  regard  for  truth.  No  fallacy,  indeed,  could  be  more  patent  than 
that  a  newspaper  is  indifferent  to  the  truth  of  its  reports.  And  that  which  is 
true  of  the  paper  is  measurably  true  of  its  employees.  Though  they  may 
not  share  all  the  aims  or  the  principles  of  the  paper  that  employs  them,  they 
are  shrewd  enough  to  know  that  its  interests  are  their  interests,  and  that 
what  brings  discredit  to  the  paper  brings  the  same  to  them.  This  is  the 
standpoint  of  the  reputable  editor.  If  the  theory  and  the  facts  always  cor 
responded  there  would  be  no  doubt  that  interviewing  is  a  legitimate  means 
of  gathering  news. 

THE  ETHICS  OF  INTERVIEWING. 

JUST  now,  however,  there  is  an  abuse  of  this  convenient  device  which 
needs  to  be  emphasized  and  reiterated  until  the  ear  editorial  shall  tingle,  and 
reform  within  the  sanctum  shall  wisely  anticipate  revolution  in  the  subscrip 
tion  list.  Spurred  on  by  competition,  the  interviewer  is  in  swift  process  of 
evolution  into  a  monster  who  combines  the  qualities  of  a  Paul  Pry,  a  Jack 
Sheppard,  a  Judas,  and  an  Ananias.  He  is  somehow  led  to  believe  that  a 
readable  and  sensational  article  is  the  one  thing  needful,  though  obtained 
by  intrusion,  intimidation,  treachery,  or  fabrication.  No  man's  house  is  any 
longer  his  castle.  Where  the  king,  the  constable,  the  landlord,  and  even  the 
book-agent  are  barred  out,  the  interviewer  contrives  to  force  himself  in.  Our 


CRITICISMS,  NOTES,  AND  REVIEWS.  12Q 

very  thoughts  are  no  longer  our  own,  and  we  shall  be  forced  ere  long  to  dis 
trust  the  very  walls  and  beams  of  our  bedrooms,  and  to  disburden  our  secrets 
only  to  the  buttercups  and  daisies  of  the  honest  earth.  The  streets  are  in 
fested  with  journalistic  footpads.  We  sit  down  at  the  dinner-table  and  try 
to  be  agreeable  to  our  next  neighbor ;  we  receive  a  certified  visitor — perhaps 
the  son  of  an  old  friend — into  our  houses  ;  or  we  talk  with  a  literary  confrere 
with  an  almost  Bohemian  freedom.  And  presently  we  find,  to  our  dismay, 
that  we  have  been  telephoning  our  artless  and  perhaps  only  half-serious  say 
ings  into  the  public  ear. 

And,  what  is  even  worse,  we  find  ourselves  credited  with  conversations  as 
imaginary  as  those  which  Landor  concocts  between  Pericles  and  Sophocles, 
o^Roger  Ascham  and  Lady  Jane  Grey.  A  leading  clergyman  of  New  York 
was  recently  astounded  to  find  in  his  paper  the  report  of  a  sermon  which  he 
had  never  preached,  announcing  a  complete  theological  summersault  on  his 
Dart.  One  of  our  suburban  colleges  had  some  hazing  disturbances  from  a 
class  of  more  than  usually  irrepressible  sophomores.  In  twenty-four  hours 
the  town  swarmed  with  interviewers,  who  buttonholed  any  one  who  was  dis 
posed  to  talk,  and  sped  away  with  all  the  irresponsible  gossip  which  chaffing 
student  or  pessimistic  townsman  might  impart,  supplemented  by  their  own 
invention.  At  another  time  a  representative  of  one  of  the  "  great "  New 
York  papers  found  his  unannounced  way  to  the  very  door  of  a  professor's 
library,  and  demanded  an  interview.  It  was  almost  necessary  to  kick  him 
out  before  he  would  acquiesce  in  the  repeated  declaration  :  "  I  have  no 
thing  to  say."  And  the  next  morning  the  Trumpeter  had  a  column  and  a 
half  of  the  professor's  conversation  !  It  is  next  to  impossible  to  obtain  inser 
tion  for  a  correction  of  newspaper  reports,  and  then  only  to  incur  an  issue  of 
veracity  between  yourself  and  the  paper. 

The  first  stage  toward  a  mitigation  of  the  interviewing  nuisance  has  al 
ready  been  reached,  in  an  awakened  and  indignant  public  sentiment.  The 
question  has  grown  into  an  "agitation."  The  journalists  are  everywhere 
thrown  upon  their  defence.  The  deadly  interviewer  has  committed  his  out 
rages  in  quarters  which  are  conspicuous  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  and  upon 
persons  for  whose  honor  the  people  are  peculiarly  sensitive.  He  has  tried 
to  force  his  way  into  the  very  bridal  chamber  of  the  President  of  the  United 
States.  He  has  betrayed  the  confidence  of  our  most  honored  literary  man 
and  representative  American.  The  Oxford  Professor  of  English  Literature 
has  been  made  to  feel  how  sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth  it  is  to  have  a 
journalistic  friend,  and  how  one  may  not  even  receive  into  his  house  a  mem 
ber  of  the  staff  of  a  quarterly  review,  lest  he  entertain  a  reporter  unawares. 

This  awakening  of  public  sentiment  ought  speedily  to  be  followed  by  a 
concerted  dropping  of  the  offensive  papers  in  favor  of  the  less  objectionable, 
or,  better  yet,  in  the  substitution  of  a  class  of  journals  conducted  on  the 
principle  of  self-respect,  and  of  respect  for  their  readers.  We  do  not  be 
lieve  that  our  civilization  is  hopelessly  vandalized,  nor  that  the  gentleman 
has  become  an  extinct  species. 
9 


I3O  CRITICISMS,  NOTES,  AND  REVIEWS. 

But  still  another  remedy  may  be  needed,  viz. :  placing  the  responsibility 
for  the  abuse  of  interviewing  where  it  belongs,  on  the  editor  in  chief  or  pro 
prietor  (nowadays  usually  the  same).  He  alone  is  vulnerable.  He  gene 
rally  claims  to  be  a  gentleman,  and  is  ambitious  to  be  recognized  in  hono 
rable,  if  not  refined,  society.  It  is  idle  for  him,  and  an  additional  insult,  to 
transfer  accountability  to  the  shoulders  of  some  scapegoat  reporter,  even  if 
it  were  not  true,  as  the  Evening  Post  distinctly  charges,  that  it  has  never 
known  an  interviewer  dismissed  for  the  mere  scandalousness  or  untruthful- 
ness  of  his  report.  A  single  word  from  him,  a  nod,  would  be  enough  to 
convert  the  most  impudent  interviewer  into  a  Sidney,  and  the  most  menda 
cious  reporter  into  a  very  photographer  of  news.  When  the  professor  al 
ready  mentioned  met  his  interviewer  again,  he  intimated  to  him  with  great 
frankness  a  strong  disposition  to  horsewhip  him.  "  No,  you  won't,"  was  the 
newspaper  man's  reply.  "  In  the  first  place,  you  are  not  rich  enough  to  af 
ford  the  luxury.  And  in  the  second  place,  you  know  that  I  am  only  a  poor 
penny-a-liner,  who  have  to  earn  my  living  by  serving  the  purposes  of  my 
employer.  An  interview  was  expected  of  me,  and  I  had  to  furnish  it  as  best 
I  could.  If  I  had  not,  some  one  else  would."  And  so  say  they  all. 

Let  us  hope,  however,,  that  these  abuses  have  reached  a  point  where  a 
reformation  may  be  effected  from  the  good  sense  and  rightmindedness  of 
the  conductors  of  our  newspapers  themselves.  Is  it  too  much  to  expect 
that  the  following  will  be  the  established  code  of  all  respectable  jour 
nalism  ? 

1.  The  business  of  the  newspaper  is  to  furnish  private  people  with  the 
public  news,  not  to  furnish  the  public  with  the  news  of  private  people. 

2.  A  private  conversation  is  as  sacred  as  private  correspondence  (and 
it  has  just  been  decided  that  even  a  prisoner's  correspondence  is  sacred 
from  every  eye  but  his  own).     An  interlocutor  has  no  more  right  to  publish 
my  private  conversation  than  to  ransack  my  drawers  for  private  papers. 

3.  It  must  be  taken  for  granted  that  a  conversation  is  private  unless  it 
is  distinctly  understood  to  be  meant  for  public  use,  either  by  previous  ar 
rangement,  or  by  express  permission  afterwards. 

4.  When  so  made  public,  it  must  not  be  printed  until  both  parties  to 
the  conversation  have  agreed  as  to  the  accuracy  of  the  report. 

These  conditions  are  so  self-evident  that  it  seems  like  a  truism  to  state 
them.  And  we  have  yet  to  see  a  denial  of  their  propriety  by  a  reputable  news 
paper  man.  The  stock  excuse  for  breaches  of  these  rules  is,  that  the  exigen 
cies  of  a  daily  publication  render  it  frequently  impracticable  to  observe  these 
safeguards.  Our  reply  is,  that  if  a  thing  cannot  be  decently  done,  it  is  not 
decent  to  do  it.  If,  as  our  journalistic  friends  contend,  the  public  "  hates 
to  be  deceived,"  and  is  so  vigilant  to  detect  and  reprove  inaccuracy,  it  can 
certainly  be  depended  on  to  endure  a  little  delay  for  the  truth's  sake.  Are  we 
no  longer  to  cherish  the  dream  of  the  rude  past,  when  the  press  set  up 
a  claim  to  be  an  educating  influence,  and  sought  to  draw  the  people  up 
to  higher  living  and  wiser  thinking  rather  than  to  lower  itself  to  their  baser 


CRITICISMS,  NOTES,  AND  REVIEWS.  131 

and  more  frivolous  instincts  ?  There  is  little  hope  of  educating  people  out  of 
their  vulgar  and  gossiping  tastes,  by  making  every  breakfast-table  a  School 
for  Scandal ! 


MR.  LOWELL  ON  EDUCATION. 

THE  oration  of  Mr.  Lowell  on  the  25oth  anniversary  of  Harvard  College 
has  more  than  a  local  significance,  and  addresses  itself  especially  to  such 
institutions  as  are  passing  from  collegiate  to  university  forms  and  methods. 
In  this  country  we  have  not  yet  reached  a  general  consensus  of  opinion  as 
to  what  constitutes  a  university.  Some  apply  the  term  to  a  collection  of 
schools,  more  or  less  united  under  a  common  governing  board.  According 
to  this  meai.ing  of  the  term  the  college  is  the  central  unit,  around  which 
may  be  gathered  a  law  school,  a  medical  school,  a  theological,  scientific,  or 
other  special  schools.  At  some  point  in  the  growth,  when  the  combination 
approaches  the  dignity  of  its  ideal,  the  name  university  is  assumed  to  desig 
nate  the  enlarged  organization.  A  second  use  of  the  term  describes  those 
institutions  whose  growth  consists  not  in  the  aggregation  of  schools,  but  in 
the  multiplication  of  departments  and  teachers.  In  this  view  a  university  is 
an  institution  which  aims  to  secure  the  means  for  giving  instruction  in  every 
recognized  branch  of  learning.  When  new  departments  have  been  added, 
and  the  college  offers  much  more  than  the  ordinarily  limited  curriculum, 
such  an  institution,  with  equal  justice,  assumes  the  name  university.  Both 
of  these  uses  of  the  term  are  based  upon  the  simple  notion  of  teaching,  im 
plying  a  body  of  teachers,  on  the  one  hand,  and  a  body  of  students,  on  the 
other.  There  is  a  third  use  of  the  term  university,  based  upon  the  wider 
notion  of  learning.  The  aim  of  such  an  institution  is  to  advance  research. 
Teachers  and  taught  are  students  together,  working  for  the  enlargement  of 
human  knowledge.  The  germ  of  such  a  university  is  a  single  investigator, 
and  it  grows  into  an  assemblage  of  productive  minds.  We  have  placed  this 
conception  of  a  university  in  a  separate  class  for  the  sake  of  emphasizing  its 
fundamental  principle.  For,  though  a  college  should  gather  to  itself  a  large 
number  of  special  schools,  or  should  multiply  its  departments  to  cover  the 
whole  range  of  human  knowledge,  if  it  have  not  this  productive  impulse  it 
fails  in  the  most  important  function  a  university  has  to  perform. 

Mr.  Lowell  tells  us  that,  more  than  thirty  years  ago,  in  response  to  a 
query  from  President  Walker  as  to  his  notion  of  a  university,  he  answered  : 
"  'A  university  is  a  place  where  nothing  useful  is  taught ;  but  a  university  is 
possible  only  where  a  man  may  get  his  livelihood  by  digging  Sanscrit  roots.' 
What  I  meant  was  that  the  highest  office  of  the  somewhat  complex  thing  so 
named  was  to  distribute  the  true  bread  of  life,  the  'pane  degli  angeli?  as 
Dante  called  it,  and  to  breed  an  appetite  for  it ;  but  that  it  should  also  have 
the  means  and  appliances  for  teaching  everything,  as  the  mediaeval  univer 
sities  aimed  to  do  in  their  trivium  and  quadrivium"  We  may  not  all  agree 
with  Mr.  Lowell  in  regarding  inutility  as  a  characteristic  of  university  work, 


132  CRITICISMS,  NOTES,  AND  REVIEWS. 

but  he  certainly  strikes  a  good  blow  for  the  freedom  of  the  classes  who  labor 
with  such  subjects  as  Sanscrit  roots.  He  wishes  not  only  that  all  knowledge 
shall  receive  recognition,  but  that  each  branch  shall  be  taught  with  due 
regard  to  its  relation  to  all  the  rest.  He  believes  that  "  many-sided  culture 
makes  our  vision  clearer  and  keener  in  particulars,"  and  that  "  the  noblest 
definition  of  science  is  that  breadth  and  impartiality  of  view  which  liberates 
the  mind  from  specialties  and  enables  it  to  organize  whatever  we  learn  so 
that  it  becomes  real  knowledge  by  being  brought  into  true  and  helpful  rela 
tion  with  the  rest."  To  him  the  university  means  "not  the  four  faculties, 
merely,"  but  "in  the  modern  sense  .  .  .  the  chance  to  acquire  the  omne 
scibile."  He  lays  little  or  no  stress  upon  organized  research,  and  is  inclined 
to  believe  that  "  special  aptitudes  are  sure  to  take  care  of  themselves." 
Opportunities  for  post-graduate  study  and  fellowships  and  commensals, 
where  wits  are  sharpened  by  constant  contact  with  each  other,  are  all 
to  be  desired,  but  we  may  well  question  whether  special  aptitudes,  left  to 
take  care  of  themselves,  are  in  the  long  run  as  productive  as  when  stimulated 
and  guided  by  university  organization. 

To  our  colleges  he  presents  a  high  manly  ideal.  What  nobler  aim  can  we 
wish  than  this,  "  Let  it  be  our  hope  to  make  a  gentleman  of  every  youth 
who  is  put  under  our  charge  ;  not  a  conventional  gentleman,  but  a  man  of 
culture,  a  man  of  intellectual  resource,  a  man  of  public  spirit,  a  man  of 
refinement,  with  that  good  taste  which  is  the  conscience  of  the  mind  and 
that  conscience  which  is  the  good  taste  of  the  soul "  ?  In  the  organization  of 
a  scheme  of  studies  "  Let  our  aim  be,  as  hitherto,  to  give  a  good  all-around 
education,  fitted  to  cope  with  as  many  of  the  exigencies  of  the  day  as  pos 
sible.  I  had  rather  the  college  should  turn  out  one  of  Aristotle's  four-square 
men,  capable  of  holding  his  own  in  whatever  field  he  may  be  cast,  than  a 
score  of  lop-sided  ones,  developed  abnormally  in  one  direction."  He  feels 
that  an  elective  system  pushed  too  rapidly  or  entered  upon  too  early  endan 
gers  the  basis  of  general  culture,  which  he  values  so  highly.  He  asks  the 
very  pertinent  question  :  "  Are  our  students  old  enough  thoroughly  to  under 
stand  the  importance  of  the  choice  they  are  called  upon  to  make,  and,  if  old 
enough,  are  they  wise  enough  "  ?  With  the  demand  for  a  more  varied  cul 
ture  than  our  fathers  required,  many  of  our  colleges  may  be  suffering  from  a 
too  limited  curriculum,  and  fortunate  is  the  institution  which  needs  to  be 
restrained  from  making  too  rapid  progress.  But  the  planting  of  university 
methods  in  our  colleges  raises  practical  questions  to  be  settled  only  by  prac 
tical  considerations.  It  has  been  the  good  fortune  of  the  study  of  Greek  to 
bear  the  brunt  of  the  fight  in  protecting  the  required  system  from  the 
encroachment  of  the  elective.  If  there  is  any  question  as  to  the  value  of 
Greek  literature,  so  able  a  literary  judge  as  Mr.  Lowell  tells  us  that  "  the 
literature  it  enshrines  is  rammed  with  life  as,  perhaps,  no  other  writing, 
except  Shakspere's,  ever  was  or  will  be. "  If  any  doubt  its  value  for  lin 
guistic  culture,  he,  a  master  of  the  English  tongue,  declares  :  "  Even  for  the 
mastering  of  our  own  tongue  there  is  no  expedient  so  fruitful  as  translation 


CRITICISMS,  NOTES,  AND  REVIEWS.  133 

out  of  another  :  how  much  more  when  that  other  is  a  language  at  once  so 
precise  and  so  flexible  as  the  Greek  "  ?  Such  questionings  go  deeper,  and 
affect  the  value  of  literary  and  linguistic  education  in  general.  If  we  wish 
for  that  all-around  culture  of  which  Mr.  Lowell  is  so  eminent  an  example, 
must  we  not  insist  that  some  language  equally  rich  and  equally  valuable 
remain  an  indispensable  basis  ?  And  what  class  of  men  are  more  competent 
to  speak  on  such  topics  than  men  of  letters  ? 


BANCROFT'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  PACIFIC  COAST;  ALASKA  AND  CALI 
FORNIA.* 

THE  first  feeling  on  the  part  of  every  one  who  takes  up  this  volume  on 
Alaska  is  one  of  surprise  that  so  much  could  be  said  about  this  compara 
tively  wild  portion  of  our  domains.  It  might  almost  be  called  the  history 
of  an  unknown  land ;  and  the  fact  that  its  materials  have  been  taken  from 
so  many  and  such  diverse  sources  gathered  into  one  library,  is  most  credit 
able  to  the  author  of  this  rather  remarkable  series  of  volumes. 

He  first  gives  us  an  insight  into  the  philosophy  of  that  great  movement 
which  took  place  in  Europe,  and  which  seemed  to  send  the  crowded  peoples 
of  that  continent  to  the  eastward.  This  was  particularly  true  in  Russia  at 
the  time  of  which  he  writes  ;  the  people  were  beginning  to  feel  the  pressure 
of  their  despotic  rulers,  and  believing  these  sovereigns  to  be  God's  vice 
gerents,  and  not  to  be  opposed,  they  resolved  to  escape  from  their  influence 
and  power.  The  expanse  to  the  East  became  a  real  blessing  to  the  oppressed, 
and  we  are  tempted  to  believe  that  despotism  may  have  its  uses.  The  tur 
bulent  spirits  at  first  went  of  their  own  accord  to  Siberia,  and  afterward  the 
"paternal"  Government  gained  strength  enough  to  send  them  there. 

The  almost  accidental  raid  of  Yermak  began  the  long  journey  of  the 
Russians  across  the  continent,  whose  surface  seemed  such  a  dead  level. 
The  march  of  the  exiles  planted  that  long  line  of  cities  which  has  become 
so  significant  since  that  time  :  Tobolsk,  Tomsk,  Yeniseisk,  Irkutsk,  and 
Okhotsk,  each  one  serving  as  a  point  cTappui  for  the  next,  and  each  being  a 
great  centre  for  their  various  enterprises.  These  changes  covered  a  period 
of  over  sixty  years,  and  then  came  rumors  of  a  "  great  land  "  still  farther  on 
toward  the  East. 

In  1741,  Behring  and  Chirikof  sailed  to  examine  these  unknown  shores. 
They  separated,  and  after  over  a  month  of  hard  work  sighted  land,  the  dis 
covery  of  one  anticipating  that  of  the  other  by  only  thirty-six  hours. 

The  stories  of  both  these  ships  are  very  pathetic.  Both  lost  boats 
and  men  ;  cold,  hunger,  and  exposure  made  sad  inroads  on  their  numbers, 

*Vol.  XXII.  History  of  California,  Vol.  V.,  1846-1848,  pp.  xv.  and  784.  Vol. 
XXXIII.  History  of  Alaska,  1730-1885,  pp.  xxxviii.  and  775.  San  Francisco,  Cal.  :  The 
History  Company,  publishers. 


134  CRITICISMS,  NOTES,  AND  REVIEWS. 

until  at  last  Yelagin,  the  pilot,  alone  of  all  the  officers  could  appear  on  deck. 
On  their  homeward  journey,  when  eleven  degrees  from  the  shore  their  last 
observations  were  taken,  and  for  six  days  from  that  time  they  drifted  on, 
with  their  sails  dropping  to  pieces  and  falling  from  the  yards  simply  because 
the  crew  were  unequal  to  the  task  of  mending  them.  They  were  gone  five 
months,  and  lost  one-third  of  the  total  number  of  their  men. 

Little  would  have  been  said  of  these  expeditions,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
beautiful  furs  brought  back. 

This  newly  discovered  land  was  not  needed  as  a  place  of  exile,  nor  had 
Russia  the  zealot's  excuse,  to  conquer  in  order  to  make  conversions  to  the 
faith  of  the  Greek  Church.  The  furs  proclaimed  the  glory  of  Alaska,  and 
for  their  sake  the  Russians  laid  claim  to  North-western  America,  basing 
their  right  on  the  voyages  of  Behring  and  Chirikof. 

Then  follows  a  most  interesting  chapter  on  the  daring  deeds  of  the 
promyshleniki,  the  adventurous  pioneers  of  Siberia.  In  all  sorts  of  boats 
and  rafts  they  tempted  the  stormy  waters  of  the  Okhotsk  and  the  sunken 
rocks  along  the  Kamtchatkan  coast.  Even  in  their  folly  their  courage  was 
great  under  the  many  privations  they  suffered.  This  was  the  beginning  of  a 
series  of  private  enterprises,  which  were  often  very  successful  (some  bringing 
back  cargoes  worth  $1,000,000),  but  quite  as  often  disastrous.  The  expenses 
of  such  undertakings  were  enormous,  as  we  can  easily  realize  when  we 
remember  that  the  rope  they  used  had  to  be  transported  from  Irkutsk  ;  their 
iron  cost  forty  cents  a  pound  in  bulk,  and  their  tools  were  correspondingly 
costly  ;  their  vessels  were  made  of  green  timber,  and  the  planks  were 
roughly  hewn  with  axes.  The  possibility  of  leakage  in  such  ships  was  thus 
great,  and,  once  wrecked,  it  was  almost  impossible  to  save  anything  but  the 
cargo.  These  pages  are  filled  with  the  fearful  deeds  of  reckless  men,  and 
horrible  tales  of  bloodshed. 

The  year  1764  brings  us  to  the  end  of  these  private  enterprises,  as  then 
the  Government  assumed  control  of  the  explorations,  which  proved  to  be  a 
series  of  imperial  efforts  and  failures.  The  most  successful  ventures  were 
made  by  the  Siberian  merchants,  Shelikof  and  Golikof,  who  attempted  to 
gain  a  foothold  on  the  American  continent  in  1783.  The  secret  of  their 
success  was  the  discovery  by  Pribylof,  in  1786,  of  the  Fur  Seal  Islands,  as 
they  were  found  to  be  the  breeding-place  of  the  valued  animals.  The  dis 
covery  proved  to  be  of  the  greatest  importance.  One  of  their  vessels 
returned  about  this  time  with  40,000  fur  seals,  2,000  sea  otters,  14,400  Ibs. 
of  walrus  ivory,  and  as  much  whalebone  as  the  ship  could  well  carry. 

Secrecy  could  not  easily  be  secured,  and  as  the  fame  of  the  new  land 
spread,  the  other  nations  of  Europe  sent  out  a  series  of  official  exploration 
parties  of  which  the  greater  number  were  Spanish  and  English.  The  famous 
voyage  of  Captain  Cook,  in  1778,  was  one  of  them,  and  we  owe  much  of  our 
knowledge  of  the  geography  of  this  region  to  that  gallant  commander. 
Each  of  these  parties  was  striving  for  a  settlement  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  great  treasures  thus  opened  to  the  world.  Then  opened  a  new  era,  that 


CRITICISMS,  NOTES,  AND  REVIEWS.  135 

of  colonization,  and  Shelikof  comes  to  the  front  as  the  father  and  founder  of 
Russian  settlements  in  America.  At  first  the  natives  were  inimical,  but  after 
that  they  became  friendly  ;  the  Russians  were  induced  to  settle  in  the  new 
country,  schools  were  started,  and  everything  seemed  prosperous.  But  all 
these  efforts  were  interrupted  by  the  various  influences  of  the  nations  repre 
sented,  and  their  conflicting  systems  of  trade,  if  such  it  could  be  called. 
It  was  not  worthy  the  name  of  trade,  but  was  rather  a  struggle  on  the  part 
of  each  to  seize  the  largest  quantity  of  valuable  material,  at  the  least  ex 
pense,  regardless  of  consequences.  The  wrangling  of  the  rival  companies  was 
a  serious  hinderance  to  their  business,  and  resulted  in  a  reckless  destruc 
tion  of  the  seal,  otter,  and  other  fur-bearing  animals. 

The  events  of  these  years  must  have  been  very  puzzling  to  the  natives, 
as  representatives  of  all  kinds  of  nations  landed  in  every  available  place  and 
took  possession  of  all  the  land  in  sight. 

The  Shelikof  and  Golikof  Company  does  not  appear,  however,  to  have 
suffered  much.  They  conceived  the  idea  of  a  subsidized  monopoly  of  trade 
and  industry,  and  received  a  charter  giving  them  complete  control,  as  a  re 
ward  for  services  rendered  to  the  country.  They  had  a  tower  of  strength  in 
Baranof,  their  agent,  who  was  more  than  a  match  for  any  of  the  other  men 
who  came  to  spy  out  the  land.  He  was  a  representative  of  that  shrewd  but 
uncultivated  class  which  formed  the  main  element  among  the  rich  men  of 
Siberia,  and  he  seemed  to  have  an  unlimited  influence  over  the  natives,  on 
account  of  his  indomitable  courage  and  presence  of  mind.  He  was  a  most 
unscrupulous  man,  however,  and  the  less  said  of  his  morals  the  better. 

Just  about  this  time  the  ambitious  leaders  of  the  Greek  Church  began  to 
look  upon  Alaska  as  a  most  desirable  field  in  which  to  acquire  fame  and  con 
verts,  and  missionaries  were  sent  out ;  but  their  curiosity  and  over-zealous 
character  soon  made  them  enemies,  not  only  among  the  business  men,  but  also 
among  the  natives.  The  latter  looked  on  the  baptism  of  the  missionaries  as 
a  new  means  of  changing  their  luck,  and  when  the  luck  did  not  change, 
the  missionary  was  fortunate  if  he  escaped  with  his  life. 

Baranof  built  several  vessels.  The  first  of  these  pioneers,  built  from  the 
lumber  of  the  "vast  deserts  of  America,"  was  called  the  Phoenix,  and  was 
launched  in  1794.  These  vessels  served  the  very  important  function  of 
helping  to  found  outposts  for  the  collection  of  furs. 

In  1799,  the  great  Russian- American  Company  was  chartered  for  a 
period  of  twenty  years.  Shelikof  was  now  dead,  but  his  widow  and  one  of 
the  great  merchants  of  Irkutsk,  Muilnikof,  were  most  active  in  the  undertak 
ing.  Baranof  was  just  then  in  despondency;  there  seemed  to  be  a  change 
in  his  good  fortune,  and  hard  times  were  at  hand.  Some  of  his  vessels  were 
wrecked,  and  in  the  entire  cargoes  of  valuable  furs  which  were  thus  swept 
away  great  losses  were  entailed.  But  relief  came  by  the  Elizabeth,  which  was 
sent  out  by  the  newly  chartered  organization,  and  so  they  were  helped  out 
of  their  difficulty,  but  they  still  met  with  occasional  misfortunes.  Baranof 
became  more  and  more  dissatisfied,  partly  because  of  his  unpleasant  relations 


136  CRITICISMS,  NOTES,  AND  REVIEWS. 

with  naval  officers  and  the  intrigues  of  the  missionaries,  but  mainly  because 
of  his  failing  health  and  the  loss  of  his  private  property  in  Siberia,  which  was 
due  mainly  to  his  absence.  The  natives  seemed  to  be  peacefully  inclined, 
but  just  when  hope  was  highest  came  the  dreadful  Sitka  massacre,  from 
which  but  few  escaped.  This  roused  all  the  pristine  vigor  of  the  man,  and 
shortly  afterward  Sitka  was  recaptured,  and  a  treaty  made  with  the  Koloshes. 
This  was  the  end  of  their  troubles  with  the  natives. 

Other  attempts  at  colonization  were  made,  but  they  failed.  The  com 
pany  had  been  generally  very  successful.  They  received  a  second  charter 
in  1821,  and  the  diplomatic  clouds  which  were  now  beginning  to  gather 
were  dispelled  by  the  Anglo-Russian  and  Russo- American  treaties  of  1824 
and  1825.  By  these  treaties  the  boundaries  were  fixed,  and  certain  limits 
were  settled  upon  with  reference  to  trading. 

Baron  Wrangell  now  assumed  control,  and  he  and  others  commenced  a 
systematic  investigation  of  the  interior ;  the  Yukon  and  Kuskokvim  rivers 
were  carefully  explored,  and  stations  founded  along  their  banks.  They  had 
some  trouble  with  the  Hudson  Bay  Company  because  of  certain  transgres 
sions  of  the  treaties,  but  these  were  soon  settled.  The  company  received 
one  other  renewal  of  its  charter,  but  it  expired  with  the  cession  of  Alaska 
to  the  United  States. 

Another  event  of  importance  occurred  about  this  time.  The  Western 
Union  Telegraph  Company  was  about  carrying  out  a  scheme  to  unite  the 
Old  and  New  Worlds  across  Behring's  Strait.  In  1867  the  plan  was 
abandoned,  after  an  expenditure  of  $3,000,000,  as  it  was  found  impossible 
to  compete  with  the  Atlantic  Cable,  already  laid,  and  now  in  successful 
operation. 

In  the  same  year  Alaska  became  a  colony  of  the  United  States.  Russia 
had  found  it  was  a  long  way  from  home  ;  she,  in  fact,  was  only  represented 
there  by  the  great  fur  company,  and  therefore  entered  into  negotiations  for 
its  transfer.  The  United  States  bought  the  vast  territory  for  $7,200,000,  and 
though  many  questioned  the  power  of  the  Government,  yet  the  sale  seems 
valid,  and  experience  has  shown  that  Alaska  was  a  wise  investment,  well 
worth  the  sum  paid  for  it,  though  at  first  it  was  deemed  worthless. 

A  still  greater  monopoly  of  the  fur  trade  than  had  ever  been  granted 
before  was  given,  in  1869,  to  the  Alaska  Commercial  Company,  and  the 
defence  of  this  monopoly  forms  one  of  the  weak  points  of  the  book,  detract 
ing  from  the  dignity  and  authority  of  the  work.  No  one  in  this  age  needs 
a  defence  of  this  monopoly.  Imagine  Prescott  stopping  in  his  histories  to 
defend  the  guano,  farms  of  the  Pacific  ! 

The  history  of  the  period  to  the  transfer  of  Alaska  to  the  United  States 
is  one  of  exceeding  value  ;  it  bears  the  marks  of  careful  research  among  the 
archives  of  Russia  and  Siberia ;  but  from  that  time  on  we  might  almost  be 
lieve  the  narrative  to  be  a  digest  of  newspaper  articles  and  of  the  compara 
tively  few  authoritative  books  which  have  appeared  on  this  interesting  part 
of  our  territory.  The  historical  maps  are  of  great  value,  but  the  recently 


CRITICISMS,  NOTES,  AND  REVIEWS.  137 

compiled  map  is  full  of  errors,  which  are  all  the  more  unpardonable  as  the 
compilation  took  place  in  Washington,  where  the  maps  of  the  Coast  Survey 
are  to  be  found.  There  is  one  thing  in  all  the  maps  of  Alaska  which  have 
appeared  recently  which  cannot  be  too  severely  criticised,  and  that  is,  print 
ing  localities,  trails,  courses  of  rivers,  etc.,  which  have  been  merely  guessed 
at  from  native  descriptions,  as  authentic  and  well-determined  facts.  There 
are  accepted  signs  which  all  geographers  recognize  for  such  uncertain  data, 
and  such  maps  as  these,  unless  they  are  in  the  hands  of  a  well-informed 
person  (which  most  explorers  are  not),  can  lead  into  danger,  and  have,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  often  put  life  in  jeopardy. 

The  whole  work  is  a  monument  of  industry,  and  could  only  be  produced 
in  that  wonderful  laboratory  which  the  author  has  constructed  for  himself, 
and  which  contains  so  many  literary  treasures.  He  has  well  earned  the 
name  of  the  "  Historian  of  the  Pacific  Coast." 

The  above  volume  was  to  have  been  followed  by  Volume  I.  of  the  Ore 
gon  series,  but  just  as  it  was  published  a  sudden  fire  destroyed  nearly  a 
whole  edition,  and  we  have  received  in  its  place  the  fifth  volume  upon  Cali 
fornia.  This  part  of  the  work  has  been  looked  for  by  all  with  great  interest, 
and  in  every  respect  realizes  the  expectations  which  were  aroused  by  the 
prospectus.  It  deals  with  a  most  fascinating  portion  of  the  history  of  the 
great  States  of  our  western  border  land.  From  the  rash  ventures  and  adven 
tures  of  Fremont,  we  are  led  along  through  the  last  Mexican  political  con 
troversies  ;  through  the  quarrels  of  Stockton,  Kearney,  and  Fremont ;  through 
the  tragic  experiences  of  early  settlers,  down  to  the  more  peaceful  times  of 
Governor  Mason's  rule.  Our  sympathies  go  out  to  the  historian  in  his 
embarrassing  circumstances,  and  every  one  rejoices  at  the  grand  spirit  in 
which  the  disaster  has  been  met.  We  are  encouraged  to  believe  that  the 
promise  to  complete  the  work  will  be  fulfilled. 


CONTEMPORARY  PHILOSOPHY  IN  FRANCE. 

M.  TAINE  introduces  his  readers  to  the  founder  of  modern  French  spir 
itualism  in  his  usual  racy  way.  "  One  morning,  in  1811,  M.  Royer-Collard, 
who  had  just  been  named  Professor  of  Philosophy  at  the  Sorbonne,  was  walk 
ing  among  the  docks,  with. a  very  embarrassed  air.  He  had  been  reading 
Condillac — but  embrace  Condillac  !  believe  and  teach  that  all  our  ideas  are 
transformed  sensations,  that  space  is  perhaps  an  illusion  ! — these  formulas  ex 
haled  a  vapor  of  scepticism  which  was  stifling  to  the  fervent  Christian,  the  aus 
tere  moralist,  the  man  of  order  and  authority.  But  he  was  new  in  philosophy, 
he  had  no  doctrine  of  his  own,  and,  bon  grt  mal grt,  he  must  possess  himself 
of  one.  Suddenly  he  perceived,  in  the  window  of  a  second-hand  book  store, 
between  a  worn-out  Crevier  and  an  Almanack  des  Cuisinieres,  a  strange  little 
book,  a  modest,  unknown,  ancient  denizen  of  the  docks,  whose  leaves  had 


138  CRITICISMS,  NOTES,  AND  REVIEWS. 

never  before  been  turned  :  Inquiry  into  the  Human  Mind  on  the  Principles 
of  Common  Sense,  by  Thomas  Reid.  He  opened  the  book,  and  lo,  a  refu 
tation  of  Condillac  !  '  Combien  ce  livre?  '  'Trente  sous'  He  bought  it,  and 
founded  the  new  philosophy  in  France. " 

New  philosophy  then,  it  is  the  old  philosophy  now.  New  as  a  nom  de 
guerre  in  the  warfare  with  the  sensationalism  of  the  eighteenth  century,  old 
as  the  conservator  of  politics,  literature,  and  morals  in  the  middle  of  the 
nineteenth.  For  we  now  have  a  "  new  spiritualism,"  preserving,  indeed, 
the  traditions  of  the  old,  and  claiming  the  same  influence  on  the  side  of  lib 
erty  and  good  order,  but  positing  theses  which  would  startle  the  good  soul 
of  Royer-Collard,  and  boasting  no  longer  of  its  descent  from  Reid  and  Du- 
gald  Stewart.  This  descent,  however,  is  very  clear.  If  we  may  remodel  the 
figure  by  which  De  Tocqueville  indicates  the  evolution  of  later  French  lit 
erature,  we  may  say  that  Reid  begat  a  son  in  his  old  age  and  called  his 
name  Maine  de  Biran,  that  Maine  de  Biran  lived  twenty  years  and  begat 
Victor  Cousin,  and  that  Victor  Cousin,  being  a  mighty  man  and  strong,  is 
begetting  every  day. 

The  characteristics  of  the  old  spiritualism  are  very  marked.  It  was  born 
of  the  exigencies  of  the  post-revolution  period,  when  thinking  men  sought 
first  of  all  an  antidote  to  Rousseau.  Be  it  what  and  come  whence  it  may, 
give  us  truth,  liberty,  God  !  "  Was  it  then  to  play  with  him,  O  Nature,  that 
thou  didst  form  man  ?  If  this  philosophy  be  that  of  human  nature,  do  not 
enter,  O  my  soul,  into  its  secrets."  So  cried  Reid.  Frenchmen  had  entered, 
by  force  ;  they  added,  to  the  Scot's  intuitive  dread,  a  living  experience  of 
its  horrors,  and  hailed  "  common  sense  "  as  the  potent  remedy.  This  is  the 
first  characteristic. 

But  the  ontological  spirit  was  abroad  in  Germany  and  soon  found  its 
way  across  the  Rhine.  Maine  de  Biran  discarded  a  descriptive  psychology, 
but,  preserving  still  the  introspective  method,  saw  absolute  being  in  the  soul, 
the  essence  of  which  is  will.  "  The  will  is  not  different  from  the  I."  *  The 
soul  is  efficient,  and  the  will  is  its  phenomenal  manifestation.  And  the  soul 
is  one  throughout  and  indivisible.  Here  is  the  restoration  both  of  efficient 
and  final  cause,  which  were  banished  by  the  destructive  criticism  of  the  pre 
ceding  age — a  restoration  which  persists  in  the  new  spiritualism,  and  gives 
color  even  to  the  thought  of  the  positivists.  When  Victor  Cousin  went  to 
Munich,  in  1818,  and  surrendered  his  liberty  to  Hegel,  he  only  made  at  a 
single  step  the  advance  from  Biran,  the  Fichte  of  France,  which  his  new 
master  had  made  from  the  real  Fichte,  through  the  mediation  of  Schel- 
ling. 

The  "new  spiritualism"  is  the  product  of  what  has  been  called  the 
nineteenth-century  tendency — the  tendency  toward  the  reconciliation  of 
philosophy  and  science.  The  concessions  have  been  greater  on  the  side  of 
philosophy,  since  more  philosophers  have  become  scientific  than  scientists 

Ouv.,  IV.,  p.  1 80. 


CRITICISMS,  NOTES,  AND  REVIEWS.  139 

philosophic.      M.  Janet  defines  the  university  philosophy  as  it  became  offi 
cial  about  1830 :  * 

"  Do  you  admit  God,  the  soul,  liberty,  the  future  life  ?  Then  you  are  a  spiritualist. 
If  not,  then  not — z7  n'y  a  pas  de  milieu.  The  positivist  is  in  no  sense  a  spiritualist,  neither 
indeed  can  be." 

M.  Vacherot,  the  historian  of  the  "  new  spiritualism,"  speaks  quite  re 
cently  in  a  different  key  :  f 

"  I  do  not  believe  that  in  the  presence  of  these  revelations  (of  science)  it  is  possible  to 
maintain  the  spiritualistic  tradition  entire.  I  am  more  and  more  convinced  that  the  time  is 
come  to  put  science  at  the  side  of  spiritualism,  by  the  employment  of  its  methods,  its  prin 
ciples,  and  its  incontestable  conclusions.  The  old  theology,  which  separates  God  from  the 
world,  has  had  its  day,  as  the  old  psychology,  which  separates  the  soul  from  the  body,  and 
the  old  ontology,  which  separates  spirit  from  matter."  "  Philosophy  must  bend  to  experi 
ence."  "  Spiritualism  must  submit  to  scientific  methods." 

What  could  the  positivist  wish  more  ?  Where  is  metaphysic  ?  If  you  mean 
the  metaphysic  of  the  noumenon,  the  metaphysic  of  the  Unknowable,  the  Ab 
solute,  it  is  excluded,  replies  M.  Vacherot.  By  what  law  ?  By  the  law  of 
experience.  But  if  you  mean  the  metaphysic  of  intuition,  the  ontology  of 
introspection,  I  embrace  it.  "  The  true  ontology  is  only  a  psychological 
revelation."  This  is  the  method,  principle,  and  conclusion  of  metaphysic, 
and  positive  science  confirms  it.  This  brings  us  back  to  the  Scottish  psy 
chology,  with  the  modifications  of  the  later  German  realists  ;  that  is,  we  see 
in  M.  Vacherot,  on  the  speculative  side,  a  true  disciple,  as  he  claims,  of 
Cousin  and  Jouffroy,  and,  on  the  positive  side,  we  find  a  wide  concession  to 
the  claims  of  natural  science. 

As  would  be  expected,  this  advance  toward  Comte  is  repudiated  by 
thinkers  of  the  old  school,  and  many  brilliant  works  have  been  called  out  in 
the  discussion.  M.  Ravaisson,  in  the  second  edition  of  his  Philosophy  in 
Francs  in  the  Nineteenth  Century, \  continues  to  maintain  his  "  spiritualistic 
positivism,"  namely,  that  "  the  true  substance  of  things  is  the  activity  of 
thought."  He  finds  his  doctrine  in  Aristotle,  and  traces  it  through  Des 
cartes,  Leibnitz,  Kant,  and  Biran,  especially  emphasizing  the  position  of  the 
last.  "  Being,"  said  Biran,  "  is  immediately  known  in  the  activity  of  the 
ego,"  and,  adds  Ravaisson,  "  This  being,  through  the  mediation  of  will,  is 
universal,  absolute,  and  all-embracing."  He  inverts  the  formula  of  the  ma 
terialists  and  thinks  he  has  escaped  its  implications.  But  matter  is  spirit 
and  spirit  is  divine,  hence  matter  is  divine,  and  we  are  as  nearly  materialists  as 
spiritualists,  because  we  are  at  once  neither  and  both.  M.  Lachilier,  in  doc 
trine  the  disciple  but  in  power  the  master  of  Ravaisson,  constructs  a  doc 
trine  of  the  development  of  thought  in  the  categories  of  efficient  and  final 
cause,  which  is  at  once  profound  and  obscure.  Efficient  and  final  cause  are 

*  Philosophic  franfaise  contemporaine,  p.  40. 

f  Le  nouveau  Spiritttalisme  par  E.  Vacherot.     Paris  :  Hachette,  1884 

\La  Philosophic  en  France  au  XIX'.  Stick.     Paris  :  Hachette,  1884. 


140  CRITICISMS,  NOTES,  AND  REVIEWS. 

one  in  the  unity  of  thought,  which  unity  is  embodied  in  the  law  of  sufficient 
reason,  but  two  in  the  unity  of  nature.  Final  cause  gives  a  raison  d'etre  to 
external  things,  as  efficient  cause  to  internal,  and  by  it  we  reach  objectivity, 
activity,  liberty.  But  we  are  constrained  to  ask  wherein  the  difference  con 
sists  between  the  two  kinds  of  cause  in  respect  to  objectivity,  if  both  are 
formal.  How  is  final  cause  a  road  to  things,  even  on  the  doubtful  supposi 
tion  that  it  is  necessary  to  the  unity  of  thought  ? 

On  this  side  of  the  general  philosophic  controversy  we  must  also  name 
Renouvier,  whose  critical  system  is  better  known  to  English  students,* 
Francesque  Bouillier,f  one  of  the  ablest  defenders  of  the  soul  from  the 
standpoint  of  general  physiology,  and  the  acute  theologian  Pressense.J 

Nearer  to  the  position  of  the  "new  spiritualists,"  and  yet  maintaining 
full  independence,  we  find  a  line  of  well-known  scientific  men  whose  detailed 
and  comprehensive  work  has  won  glory  for  France.  M.  Cournot  §  maintains 
a  dynamic  theory  of  matter,  and  a  nisus  formativus  or  architectonic  princi 
ple  of  life  which  is  teleologic.  M.  Naudin,  the  distinguished  botanist,  takes 
arms  against  Darwin,  disputes  insensible  modifications,  natural  selection,  and 
variation  of  species,  substituting  an  internal  primordial  plastic  force  for  the 
external  and  mechanical  causes  of  the  materialistic  evolutionists,  and  rising 
through  the  theory  of  second  causes  to  orthodox  theism.  Claude  Bernard, 
in  a  series  of  articles  published  in  one  volume  after  his  death,  |  combats  all 
forms  of  physical  vitalism,  and  works  out  a  spiritualistic  theory  of  life.  His 
celebrated  definition  of  life  is  often  quoted,  La  vie,  c'est  la  mort — a  sentence 
which,  according  to  Janet,  caused  Hegel  to  "  shake  with  joy."  Every  phe 
nomenon  of  life  is  accompanied  with  organic  destruction  ;  but  life  continues. 
This  is  creation.  Death  is  chemical,  life  is  morphological  and  directive.  M. 
Quatrefage's  work,  Human  Species,  is  well  known  in  its  English  translation. 

On  the  extreme  left  we  find  the  positivists  holding  a  strong  position. 
They  remember  well  the  supremacy  gained  in  1852,  when  one  of  the  chairs 
of  philosophy  in  the  Normal  School  was  abolished  because  speculation  was 
unpopular,  and  their  rule  of  ten  years,  during  which  the  spiritualistic  tradi 
tion  was  barely  preserved  in  Caro  and  Lemoine.  They  had  also  a  season  of 
rejoicing  just  after  the  Franco-Prussian  war,  when  the  association  movement 
was  extended  to  France  in  translations  of  Spencer,  Mill,  and  Bain,  and 
gained  influence  in  Taine's  Intelligence  and  Ribot's  English  Psychology.  A 
series  of  articles  in  the  Revue  Scientifique  for  1874  expounded  the  work  of 
Wundt  and  the  German  physiologists,  and  on  January  i — curiously  enough, 
the  very  day  on  which  the  British  quarterly  Mind  appeared — the  Revue  Philo- 
sophique  mailed  its  first  issue.  It  would  not  be  just  to  call  the  philosophic 
position  of  either  of  these  magazines  "  positive,"  but  the  position  of  Profes- 

*  See  Essais  de  Critiques  generates. 

\  Sur  la  vrai  Conscience.     Paris  :  Hachette,  1882. 

\  A  Study  of  Origins.     Eng.  trans.     New  York  :  James  Pott,  1884.     2d  edition. 

§  Materialisme,   Vitalisme,  Rationalisme.     Paris,  1875. 

1  La  Science  expfrimentale.     See,  also,  La  Vie.     Paris,  1878. 


CRITICISMS,  NOTES,  AND  REVIEWS.  14! 

sor  Ribot  and  many  of  his  co-laborers  justifies  us  in  mentioning  the  Revue 
Philosophique  at  least  among  the  influences  which  make  for  positivism.  Its 
most  important  contributions  have  been  from  Espinas,  Charles  Richet,  Del- 
boeuf,  and  the  members  of  the  Medical  School  of  the  Salpetriere  (asylum 
for  women),  especially  Charcot,  the  director,  Binet,  and  Fe're'. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  positive  view  of  things  is,  as  Lange 
maintains,  stimulating  to  scientific  endeavor  and  discovery,  simply  on  the 
general  principle  that  men  work  hardest  along  the  lines  of  their  belief.  And 
as  far  as  philosophy  is  made  scientific,  that  is,  empirical,  the  benefit  accrues 
to  philosophy  also,  while  the  domain  of  speculative  reservation  remains  un 
touched.  Psychology  is  the  disputed  province,  and  hence  the  rise  of  ex 
perimental  psychology.  It  is  an  exotic,  it  is  true,  but  it  has  taken  firm  root, 
and  is  now  the  most  promising  tree  in  the  philosophic  orchard  of  France. 

Two  events  of  importance  have  recently  tended  to  dignify  this  departure 
and  make  it  official :  one  is  the  appointment  of  M.  Ribot  to  a  chair  in  Ex 
perimental  Psychology  at  the  Sorbonne,  the  first  of  the  kind  ever  founded  in 
France.  The  other  is  the  founding  (in  February,  1885)  of  the  "Society  for 
Physiological  Psychology." 

It  is  difficult  to  summarize  results  when  activity  is  so  great  and  discus 
sion  so  warm,  bxit  we  may  indicate  important  works.  M.  H.  Beaunis  has 
the  honor  of  making  the  first  reliable  experiments  with  a  view  to  establishing 
the  reaction  time  for  olfactory  and  gustatory  sensations.  He  published  his 
results  in  1883,  in  the  Revue  Medical  de  t  Est  and  the  Revue  Philosophique. 
An  account  of  his  work  will  be  found  in  his  recent  book,  Conditions  of  Cere 
bral  Activity*  etc.  In  the  same  work  he  treats  of  the  forms  of  muscular 
contraction  and  arrest,  and  establishes,  with  the  aid  of  the  experiments  of 
Wundt  and  Brown-Se'quard,  an  important  physiological  principle,  viz.,  that 
every  manifestation  of  nervous  activity  undergoes  an  arresting  influence 
which  is  due  either  to  the  original  exciting  cause  or  to  the  action  of  another 
nervous  region.  So  that  in  every  peripheral  excitation  two  forces  are  set  in 
play,  positive  or  exciting,  and  negative  or  arresting,  and  the  resultant  is  the 
sensation  energy  of  the  excitation.  If  this  is  so,  the  excitability  of  the  dif 
ferent  regions  of  the  nervous  system  depends  upon  the  varying  force  of  the 
arrest.  M.  Beaunis's  psychological  inferences  are  very  interesting,  and  we 
transcribe  them,  only  remarking  that  his  physiological  conception  is  founded 
upon  established  facts.  He  says  : 

"  This  hypothesis  puts  in  new  light  the  mechanism  of  the  psychic  functions  and  per 
mits  the  interpretation  of  a  number  of  facts  which  have  been  heretofore  inexplicable.  .  .  . 
The  central  primal  fact  which  rules  the  whole  question  is  the  duality  seen  at  the  basis  of 
every  psychic  act,  the  double  tendency,  activity  and  its  arrest — the  fact  that  the  psychic 
act  is  the  result  of  two  contrary  movements.  Transport  the  action  of  arrest  into  the 
domain  of  consciousness  and  you  have  the  hesitation  which  accompanies  a  voluntary  move 
ment  or  an  intellectual  determination  ;  into  the  sphere  of  emotion,  you  have  the  fluctua- 


*Recherches  expe'rimentales  sur  les  Conditions  de  f  Activite"  cere"bralet  etc.     Paris,  1884. 


142  CRITICISMS,  NOTES,  AND  REVIEWS. 

tions  of  passion ;  into  the  sphere  of  pure  speculation,  the  reserves  of  metaphysical  doubt. 
All  our  intellectual  life  is  a  strife  of  tendencies,  impulsion,  and  arrest." 

We  note  below  the  bearing  of  the  doctrine  upon  ethical  discussion.  M. 
Beaunis  is  also  preparing  another  work,  Internal  Sensations,  for  the  Inter 
national  Scientific  Series. 

Since  the  experiments  of  Doctor  Luys,*  the  best  work  in  brain  physiology 
has  been  done  by  Charcotfand  Manque.  J  The  latter  investigates  the 
functions  of  the  psycho-motor  centres  of  the  brain,  giving  first  a  very  ex 
haustive  critical  summary  of  the  work  of  his  predecessors,  and  attempts  to 
show,  by  means  of  association  fibres  connecting  the  psycho-motor  and  sen 
sory  centres,  that  their  combined  function  is  identical  with  that  of  similar 
pairs  in  the  reflex  ganglionic  centres  of  the  spinal  cord.  His  fundamental  as 
sumptions,  that  "consciousness  does  not  alter  the  conditions,"  and  that  the 
motor  centres  are  co-ordinators,  and  not,  through  the  will,  originators  of  move 
ment,  as  Ferrier  and  spiritualists  in  general  hold,  are  arbitrary  and  unproved. 

On  the  more  varied  problems  of  physiological  psychology,  we  note 
M.  Ribot's  Diseases  of  Memory,  of  Will  (1883),  and  of  Personality 
(1885),  the  detailed  work  on  hypnotism  by  Binet  and  Fere",  Richet  and 
Charcot,§  and  the  investigations  of  Delbreuf  in  psycho-physics.  |  A  more 
general  work  on  psychology,  especially  fine  in  its  comprehensiveness  and 
vigor  for  classroom  work,  is  that  of  Professor  Rabier,!"  of  the  Lyce"e 
Charlemagne,  member  of  the  Superior  Council  of  Public  Instruction.  He 
writes  from  the  standpoint  of  advanced  spiritualism,  subordinating  ontology 
to  psychology,  but  with  a  receptive  attitude  toward  the  results  of  the  empi 
rical  school.  His  book  reminds  us,  in  its  philosophic  attitude,  of  Sully's  Out 
lines.  He  borrows  largely,  and  generally  improves  what  he  borrows,  as,  for 
example,  Biran's  theory  of  cause  and  Taine's  theory  of  sense-perception. 
He  attempts  to  reconcile  empiricism  and  intellectualism  in  a  doctrine  which 
he  denominates  intelligent  empiricism :  knowledge  is  empirical,  but  internally 
empirical ;  it  begins  with  experience,  but  with  internal  experience,  that  is, 
with  consciousness  of  the  ego,  which  is  intelligent.  This  is  certainly,  as 
Victor  Brochard  remarks,  only  a  jeu  de  mots,  and  we  are  glad  to  welcome 
M.  Rabier  as  an  intuitionist  after  all.  His  book,  as  a  whole,  is  perhaps  the 
finest  resume"  of  the  results  of  modern  psychology  of  all  schools  that  has  yet 
been  written.  Its  scope  will  be  seen  from  the  headings  of  some  of  the  chap 
ters  :  "Consciousness,"  "The  Unconscious,"  "Habit,"  "Mind  in  Animals," 
"  Beauty  and  Art,"  "  Inclination,"  "  Sleep,"  etc. 

Turning  finally  to  ethical  discussion,  we  are  at  once  struck  with  the  bril 
liant  play  of  the  same  forces.  Ethical  territory  is  the  citadel  of  the  spiri- 

*  Le  Cerveau  et  ses  Fonctions.     4th  edition, 
f  Lemons  sur  les  Localisations  cMbrales,  and  numerous  articles. 

\Recherches  exper.  sur  le  Mfaanisme  de  Fonc.  des  Centres  psycho-moteurs  du  Cerveau. 
Par  J.  Marique,  Hopital  St.  Jean.     Brussels,"  1885. 
§  Revue  philosophique,  1884-6. 

|  Psychophysique,  1883.     Also,  Examen  critique  de  la  Loi  psychophysique. 
^T  Lemons  de  Philosophic :  \.Psychologie.     Paris:  Hachette,  1884. 


CRITICISMS,  NOTES,  AND  REVIEWS.  H3 

tualistic  philosophy,  devoted  once,  it  is  true,  to  the  completest  destruction, 
but  never  again,  we  are  convinced,  to  be  undermined  by  the  sewer-canals 
of  a  burrowing  sensualism.  No  intelligent  Frenchman  cares  to  question  the 
political  function  of  philosophy  or  the  ethical  function  of  politics.  Ask  De 
Tocqueville,  Laboulaye,  Janet,  and  Guizot  for  their  opinion  on  this  subject. 
Taine  may  follow  Voltaire,  and  the  mantle  of  the  Cyclopedists  may  fall  upon 
weaker  thinkers  of  to-day,  but  they  will  find  that  they  have  a  more  danger 
ous  enemy  to  meet  than  had  their  illustrious  predecessors.  The  corner-stone 
of  the  new  ethic  was  laid  in  the  lurid  light  of  the  politics  of  the  Reign  of 
Terror  and  the  Commune,  and  this  corner-stone  is  a  principle  which  rests 
deeper  in  the  foundations  of  human  life  than  the  theology  of  Malebranche 
or  the  ethics  of  Leibnitz.  What  is  this  principle  ?  Will,  efficient,  final,  free, 
ultimate  ;  the  dominating  idea,  as  we  have  seen,  in  general  speculation,  and 
the  pivot  of  ethical  discussion.  To  show  that  this  is  true,  it  is  only  necessary 
to  name  the  four,  works  which  are  to-day,  from  the  standpoints  of  the  differ 
ent  schools,  exerting  the  widest  influence  :  Theory  of  Morals,  Janet ;  Liberty 
and  Determinism"*  Fouille"e  ;  The  Ethical  Principle,  \  Sacre"tan  ;  Sketch  of 
an  Ethic  without  Obligation  or  Sanction,  J  Guyau.  The  authors  of  three  of 
these  are  disciples,  to  a  greater  or  less  degree,  of  Biran,  and  M.  Guyau's 
doctrine  is  important  both  as  leading  the  opposition  and  as  attempting  the 
construction  of  a  positivist  ethic. 

M.  Janet's  work  is  well  known  in  the  English  translation  recently  pub 
lished.  The  essay  of  M.  Fouillee  appeared  first  in  1872,  giving  rise 
to  wide  discussion,  and  is  now  entirely  recast.  It  is  a  direct  attempt  to 
reconcile  scientific  determinism  with  personal  liberty  by  the  intercala 
tion  of  mean  terms,  drawn  respectively  from  the  external  or  mecha 
nistic — the  fortune  physique — and  the  internal  or  voluntary — the  fortune 
morale.  The  contribution  of  Biran,  as  we  have  said,  was  the  introduction 
of  will  force  into  the  primitive  intellectual  act.  A  sense  of  effort  accom 
panies  every  intellectual  movement,  and  the  categories  are  more  than  forms 
— they  are  forms  of  a  spontaneous  activity,  will.  This  bridges  the  Kantian 
chasm  between  the  voluntary  and  the  intellectual  life.  Upon  this  basis,  M. 
Fouille'e  constructs  a  doctrine  of  "  idea-forces."  Every  idea  has  a  volition 
energy,  necessary  to  itself.  The  intelligence  is  the  vehicle  of  volition,  and 
the  sum  of  the  ideas  is  at  once  the  act  of  the  willing  self.  This  on  the  side 
of  the  morale.  But  every  idea  is  accompanied  by  a  physical  modification, 
and  a  consequent  discharge  of  physical  force.  The  resultant  of  these  forces 
is  a  sense  manifestation.  This  on  the  side  of  the  physique.  Hence  a  double 
play  of  forces,  necessarily  parallel,  since  functionally  homologous,  in  one  of 
which  volition  resides  and  in  the  other  mechanism.  The  theoretical  recon 
ciliation  is  derived  from  the  conception  itself  of  "  idea-force,"  and  it  is  well 

*  La  Liberte" et  le  Determinism.     Par  Alfred  Fouillee.     2e  edition.     Paris  :  Alcan,  1884. 
f  La  Principe  de  la  Morale.     Par  Ch.  Sacre'tan.     Lausanne,  1884. 
\  Esquisse  d'une  Morale  sans  Obligation  ni  Sanction.     Par  M.  Guyau.     Paris  :  Alcan, 
1884. 


144  CRITICISMS,  NOTES,  AND  REVIEWS. 

to  observe  that  the  idea  of  freedom  becomes  a  dominating  influence  in  the 
play  of  those  forces.  The  stronger  the  conviction  of  freedom,  the  stronger 
is  its  "  idea- force,"  and  the  more  real  the  freedom  which  it  indicates. 
"  Idea-force  "  is  a  contribution  to  ethical  terminology.,  but  the  conception  is 
familiar  to  those  who  know  Herbart's  Mechanic  of  Mind,  and  Wundt's  theory 
of  apperception.  Another  recent  and  very  important  work  by  M.  Fouille'e  is 
his  Critique  of  Contemporary  Ethical  Systems.  * 

M.  Sacre"tan,  on  the  other  hand,  assumes  freedom  as  a  postulate  of  the 
moral  life.  He  constructs  a  social  ethic  upon  an  original  obligation  to  act 
as  part  of  a  whole.  "  I  recognize  myself  as  a  free  element  of  a  whole." 
Reason  is  a  mode  of  will,  another  modification  of  Biran,  and  will,  the  indi 
vidual,  exists  in  immediate  communion  with  will,  the  universal.  We  rise  to 
positive  religion  and  prayer.  M.  Guyau  represents  the  evolution  ethic  in 
France,  substituting  the  expression  "  least  pain "  for  Mr.  Spencer's  "  least 
resistance,"  and  banishing  freedom,  final  cause,  and  obligation  to  law.  Life 
is  the  moral  end,  and  the  strife  for  existence  the  earnest  of  its  attainment. 
We  must  also  mention  M.  Caro,  the  historian  of  pessimism,  who  delightfully 
characterizes  the  complaint  of  those  who  are  dissatisfied  with  the  present 
order  of  things  as  a  magnification  of  the  mal  en  mot  into  the  mal  en  sot. 

*  Ct  itique  des  systemes  de  morale  contemporaines?    Paris:  Bailli^re,  1883. 


BOOKS  RECEIVED, 

Of  which  there  may  be  critical  notice  hereafter. 

BENJAMIN. — Persia  and  the  Persians,  pp.  xi,  495.     Boston,  1887 :  Ticknor  &  Co. 

BRANDES.— Eminent  Authors  of  the  Nineteenth  Century.    Translated  by  Rasmus  B.  Anderson,  pp.  460. 

New  York,  1886:  Thomas  Y.  Crowell  &  Co. 

BRUCE. —  The  Miraculous  Element  in  the  Gospels,  pp.  391.    New  York,  1886  :  A.  C.  Armstrong  &  Son. 
CLARK.—  The  Philosophy  of  Wealth,  pp.  xiii,  235.    Boston,  1886  :  Ginn  &  Co. 
Collections  of  the  Huguenot  Society  of  A  merica.    Introduction  by  A.  V.  Wittmeyer,  pp.  Ixxxviii,  431,  xlii. 

New  York,  1886  :  Published  by  the  Society. 

Du  BOSE. —  The  Dragon,  Image  and  Demon,  pp.  468.    New  York,  1887 :  A .  C.  Armstrong  &  Son. 
OILMAN — The  Story  of  the  Saracens,  pp.  xiv,  493.     New  York,  1887 :  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons. 
GLADDEN. — Applied  Christianity,  pp.  320.    Boston,  1886:   Houghton,  Mifflin&Co. 
HAWEIS. — Christ  and  Christianity  :  Story  of  the  Four  Evangelists,  pp.  xxiv,  203.     New  York,  1886  : 

Thomas  Y.  Crowell  &  Co. 

HEMIUP.— Law  of  Heat,  pp.  120.    Geneva,  N.  Y.,  1886. 

LANE-POOLE.—  The  Story  of  the  Moors  in  Spain,  pp.  xii,  285.    New  York,  1886:  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons. 
LANSING. — An  Arabic  Manual,  pp.  vit,  194.      Chicago,  1887  :  American  Publication  Society  of  Hebrew. 
LOWELL.— Democracy  and  other  Addresses,  pp.  245.     Boston,  1887  :  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co. 
MclLVAiNE.—  The  Wisdom  of  the  Apocalypse,  pp.  ix,  420.    New  York,  1886 :  A.  D.  F.  Randolph  &  Co. 
PARKER.— Discourses  on  Holy  Scripture  (People"s  Bible),  pp.  4*2.     New  York,  1886 :  Funk  &  Wagnalls. 
Paulists'  Five  Minute  Sermons,  pp.  500.     New  York,  1886  :  Catholic  Publication  Society  Co. 
RICHARDSON.— A merican  Literature.    Vol.  I.,  The  Development  of  American  Thought,  pp.  xx,  535. 

New  York,  1887 :  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons. 


THE   NEW  PRINCETON  REVIEW. 


\\.   H.  MCDONALD,  President. 

(PRINCETON,  '78.) 


JOS.  P.  MURRAY,  Secretary. 
(PRINCETON,  '85.) 


H.   M.  MCDONALD,  Treasurer. 
'PRINCETON,  '78. 


The  Western  Loan  and  Trust  Co.  of  Pierre,  Dakota. 

CASH  PAID-UP    CAPITAL,  $250,000.       SURPLUS,  $25,000. 

Offer  for  sale  GUARANTEED  SEVEN  PER  CENT.  FIRST  REAL  ESTATE 
MORTGAGES  upon  improved  productive  Farm  Lands  worth  in  market  at  least  THREE 
TIMES  AMOUNT  LOANED.  Interest  payable  semi-annually  in  New  York  City.  The 
care  and  conservatism  with  which  these  loans  ar?  placed,  together  with  the  GUARANTEE 
furnished  by  the  capital  of  this  Company,  make  these  Farm  Mortgages  an  exceedingly  safe 
investment.  The  Co.  also  buys  and  sells  Dakota  Township  School  Bonds  ;  these  bonds  run 
8  to  15  years,  and  net  the  investor  SIX  PER  CENT.  INTEREST,  payable  semi- 
annually  in  New  York.  Eminent  counsel  pronounce  the  statute  under  which  these  bonds 
are  issued  the  strongest  school  law  ever  enacted  for  the  protection  of  investors. 

Refer,  by  special  permission,  to 

H.  W.   CANNON,  President  Chase  National  Bank,  New  York. 

O.  F.   BERRY,  Cashier  Tradesmen's  National  Bank,  New  York. 

J.  O.   MURRAY,  D.D.,  Princeton,  N.  J. 

JOHN  T.   DUFFIELD,  D.D.,  Princeton,  N.  J. 

PROF.  WILLIAM  LIBBY,  JR.,  Princeton,  N.  J. 
For  full  information  address  or  call  upon 

H.  M.  McDONALD,  Treasurer, 

2  Wall  Street  (United  Bank  Building),  New  York. 


FOR  GENERAL  WRITING,  Kos.  332,  404,  390  and  604. 


FOB  FINE  WRITING,  Nos.  1,  303  and  Ladies',  170. 


FOR  ARTISTIC  USE  in  fine  drawings,   Nos.  659  (the  celebrated 


awngs 
.   290 


Crowqaill).   290  &  291. 


-itf 

1 


FOR  BROAD  WRITING.  Nos.  294,  389  and  Stub  Point,  849. 


JOSEPH  GILIOTT  &  SONS,  91  Jokn  St.,  N,  T,    HENRY  HOE,  Sole  Agent, 


X£  VIE  H  : 


:  .u  .H 


•»^.  ,YA 

.(.?y    ,Y.Q 


u. 


teuiT 


.£jOfl£(I. ,91191^  10  .00  J« 

§)  i  t? 

<.ocfi},?s2  ,*£\5  iSA.\iZ     y.ooo.o? 
HJS*^-        T        "  •  *•  • 

03  o 

aTATSa  J6A.3H  T8fllri  ."^ 

aaHffT  Jaggf  3c  JaJ-nrm  ni  HJTQW  3J/rcJ  mik'i 

sdT 


^ooks. 

Street. 

&*'&.  GRANT. 


Jf^. 


q  ^mdwvumiiMr.  Grant,  I  had  no 
idea  you  had  such  lovely  books, 
large,  small,  artistic  ones,  and 

y9fe^i?^jr  "  My !  what 

handsome  bindings."  This  is 
what  each  i^newc- friend  says  of 
Mr. .  Grant's  establishment, 
'•'Pr<g&£ei£aU  ahd  see  for  yourself, 
or  wrWMV.-  'Grant. 

iFAis.     Fresh    Stock. 

IIXT. iviui i.'/   . -ioa  1 

Attention  to  your  wants. 

'StUDS  HCS1JJ3I1  ' 


[^E.  GRANT, 

7  West  42d  Street. 


RY   AS  A   REPRESENTATIVE   ART.       8vo,   cloth;   extra, 
ND,  Professor  in  Princeton  College. 

braces  every  relation  ofpoetry  to  language  and  to  samime>nt.',    *     *     :-        The 
one  ;  his  manner  of  working  it  out  shows  a  thorough"Slu4jlr^>f  jflft  subject,  and  an 
with  the  whole  range  of  English  poetry        *     *  .  *      critically  examined.      The  student 
thf  book  worthy  oi' exhaustive  _study." — Philadelphia  Inquirer. 

ults  are  the  most  important  ones  yet  attained  in  its  department,  and,  we  believe,  the  most  valuable." 
tbe.  .    . ':_,..      ;  • 

ute,  interesting,  aitd  brilKant  piece  of  work.      *     * 


POET 

$1 

"The 
author's  pi 
astonishing  fa: 
of  literatun 

"Its  re 
— Boston  G 

"  An  a 

praise.       If  every   poetic  aspirant   could   learn  by  heart,  th 
and  the'amount  of  poetry  increased  by  ti  larger  ratio. 


As  a  whole,  the  essay  deserves  unqualified 
amount  of  versifying  might  be  reduced  by  a  half, 
It  applies  the  test  under  whose  touch  ttie  dull 


nd  the  amet:          .  „ 

ne  fails.     It  goes  farther  than  this,  and  furnishes  the  key  to  settle  the  vexed  questions  as  to  moralizing  didactic 

erse,  and  uv 


of 


ne  dangerous  terms  on  which  sense  and  sound  meet  in  verse." — New  York  Independent.  " 

A  LIFE  Iff  SOJJ6.     i6mo,  cloth,  extra,- $k-. 25.     By  GEO.  L.  RAYMOND 

"  An  age-wArn  poet,  dyfn°g  aWiS  sYr^figef'^n  tt*liTini^fiK'inlg¥,ilieHi»e<*  tne-record  ofhi»-life  in  a  pil  ' 
manuscript  poawsr  These  ate  claiiued  by  a.  fiieinl  unJ  companion,  but  at  the  request  o£tb&cotlaqers  he  r« 
them  over  before  taking  them  away.     *     *    *    This  is  the  simple  but  unique  plan.       *     *     *      The  author 
attMipted  to  put  an  American  modern  life  before  us.    _*    *    *     sees  poetry  and  living  poetry  where  the  most 

of  men  see  prose,  *  *  *  The  objection  *  *  *  tliat  form  outweighs  the  thought  cannot  be  urged  in  this 
instance,  for  the  poems,  of  frof."Rayrnond  are  full  of  keen  and  se':trchin.^  cprnnu--ftt,s  'Upon  life.  Neither  can  the 
^e  urged  of  the  *  lack  of  human  element.'  '  A  Life  in  song  *  isjiot  only  dramatic  in  yjndency,  but  is 


.     '  A  Life  in  Song'  is  not  onl\  .    ._.   . 

singularly  realistic  and  acute.    *    *    *    The  volume  will  appear  to  ^a'Targe"  clnss'"of'readers4^y  reason  of  its 
clear,  musical,  flexible  verse,  its  pure  thought  and  its  intense  human  interest." — Boston  Transcript. 

"  Mr.  Raymond  is  a  poet  with  all  thatthe  name  -implies.  He  has  the  true  fire^-there  is  no  disputing  jji*it. 
*  *  *  There  is  thought  of  an  elevated  character,  the  diction  is  pure,,  the  versification  true.  *  *  -31  Nor 
only  does  '  A  Life  in  Song '  offer  consolation  hv  the  quiet  twilight  hour  .  *••  *  *  but  also  affords  innumerable 
important  quotations  to-fortify  and  instruct  one"  for  ihe  struggle  of  life,  and  a  book  that  is.  of  this  value  is  not  ;m 
ordinary  one.  *  *  *  We  could  wish  it  universally  read." — Hartford  Post. 

_"  The  versification  throughout  is  graceful  and  thoroughly  artistic,  the  imagery  varied  and  spontaneous,  the 
tout-  high,  earnest,  and  appealing.  The  book  is  ote  to-be  read  in  a  thotrgtrtftifm<xjd,-and-irirl  ftpay  a  careful 
perusal.  P&jrtJcu^rJX?0  we;e6m4ie»d  gifcJioepTtt)  the.r|»ultiitudet»f  ContemgpraTy  bardHrgs  whd  may  find  in  its 
singerity  of  purgos'e  and  loftinessofaim  a  salJtary  in'spiratiofi.  **— "Boston  £iTtr&rJ  Wo+tH. 

~'  It  is  a  great  work,  and'sTibws  that  AmeHca~ftgB'a~areat  poet. — "* — * — * — A  uentuiy  fiumfSiow  this  poem 
will  be  known  and  quoted  wherever  fine  thought  is  appreciated,  or  brave  deeds  sung." — Western  Rural. 


THE  NEW  PRINCETON 


\\ 


Some  Problems  of  Philosophy, 

By  Archibald  Alexander, 

Professor  of  Philosophy  in  Columbia  College. 
/  Vol.,   T2mo,  fi.oo. 

READY    IN    JANUARY. 

In  his  "Problems  of  Philosophy,"  Prof.  Alexander 
examines  and  analyzes  some  of  the  most  difficult 
questions,  and  shows  how  far  philosophy  can  go 
towards  solving  them.  The  intrinsic  value  of  the 
work  itself,  and  the  importance  of  a  discussion  of 
some  of  the  difficulties  of  philosophical  investigation 
cannot  fail  to  be  at  once  recognized  by  students. 

CONTENTS: 

The  Difficulties  of  Philosophy  ;  The  Problem  of 
the  Ultimate  Nature  of  Matter;  The  Problem  of  the 
Origin  of  Organic  Being;  Some  Difficulties  Con 
nected  with  any  Doctrine  of  the  Ego  ;  Unconscious 
Mental  States  ;  The  Problem  of  Physiological  Psy 
chology  ;  Reason  in  Contradiction  to  Reason ;  The 
Relation  of  Belief  to  Knowledge;  The  Problem  of  the 
Human  Will;  The  Immorta'ity  of  the  Soul;  The 
Feeling  of  Obligation  and  Moral  Knowledge;  Is  He 
donism  Equivalent  to  Pessimism  ?  The  Ethical  Con 
flict  ;  The  Doctrine  of  a  First  Cause  ;  The  Infinite  ; 
God  and  the  Principle  of  Right ;  The  Atheistic  Mean 
ing  of  Pantheism  ;  The  Doctrine  of  Cause  and  Effect. 


A  Contribution  to  Popular  Classical  Culture. 

TALKS  WITH  SOCRATES  ABODT  LIFE. 

Translations  from  theGorgiasr.nd  the  Republic  of 
Plato,  i  vol.,  i2mo.  Cloth, $i.co ;  paper, 50 cents. 
This  book  belongs  to  the  series  of  translations  from 
Plato,  begun  by  the  publication  of  the  volume  "  Soc 
rates,"  of  which  6.000  copies  have  already  been  sold. 
The  work  of  the  anonymous  translator  was  at  once 
pronounced  by  scholars  to  be  far  superior  to  any  ever 
before  given  in  English  in  a  form  for  popular  reading. 
Prof.  Goodwin  writes  :  "I  have  advised  the  trans 
lator  to  publish  these  versions  of  Plato,  in  the  belief 
that  they  will  be  welcomed  by  many  to  whom  both 
Plato  and  Socrates  have  hitherto  been  merely  vener 
ated  names;  especially  by  those  whose  interest  in 
knowing  what  Plato  and  Socrates  really  taught  has 
been  doubly  checked  by  ignorance  of  Greek  and  by 
the  formidable  aspect  of  Plato's  complete  works,  even 
in  an  English  translation." 

FORMER  VOLUMES. 

SOCRATES.  A  translation  of  the  Apol 
ogy,  Crito,  and  parts  of  the  Phsedo  of  Plato. 
i2mo,  cloth,  $1.00  ;  paper,  50  cents. 

A  DAY  IN  ATHENS  WITH  SOC 
RATES.  Translations  from  the  Protagoras  and 
the  Republic  of  Plato.  i2mo,  cloth,  si.-  o;  paper, 
50  cents. 

A  HISTORY  OF  GREEK  LITERATURE. 

From  the  earliest  period  to  the  death  of  Demos 
thenes.    By  FRANK  BYRON  JEVONS,  M.A.    i  rol., 
crown  8vo,  $2.50. 
"It  is  beyond  question  the  best  history  of  Greek 

literature  that  has  hitherto  been  published."— London 

Spectator. 

***  These  books  are  for  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  will 

be  sent,  postpaid,  on  receipt  rf  price  by  the 

publishers. 


Price,  25  cento.    $ 


lOHTSMflAp  .A 
tMagazine. 

11% 
liO.oo  a  Year. 


The  New  York  Sun  ( 

"  If  ever  a  magazin 
and  waiting  for  it,  th 
luck.  The  name  is  a  let 
friendship  and  respect.  Th< 
closer  acquaintance.  The  tablak$fiesfeii«5;i$ .a  revela 
tion  of  character  and  intelligence.  The  first  number 
is  welcomed  before  it  is  read,  an'd  when  it  is  read  it 
takes  its  place  easily  and  at  oncer  among  the  thingsth.it 
justify  their  own  existence  and  .l>«ed;  BO  probajiw 
before  being  fully  and  finally  accepted.  The  individ 
uality  of  the  handsome  new  magazine"  'fif  d&tm'c't.  ''ft 
is  an  imitation  of  none  of  its  coi3A^ffnSf,3M  itAt 
on  a  level  with  the  best  of  them**oth  in  the  merit  of 
its  general  scheme  and  in  the  det^|ls  of  workmanship. 
This,  we  believe,  will  be  the  verdict  of  the  intelligent 
reading  public  on  the  new  Scrionfr's Magazine." 


CONTENTS  OF  JANUARY  NUMBER 

GAMBETTA    PROCLAIMI 

PUBLIC    OF    FRANCE,,"  ?. 


Drawn  by  HOWARD  PYLE. 
FRENCH. 

REMINISCENCES    OF    THE 

COMMUNE  OF  PARIS.  First 
Downfall  of  the  Empire.  By  E.  B. 
ex-Minister  to  France.  With  illustrafions, 
portraits  and  documents  in  Mr.  WasHBufne^s 
possession,  and  from  drawings  by  Tutffc&iq&W} 
MEEKER,  REICH,  and  others.  ^D;1  Den92 

SETH'S    BROTHER'S    WIFE.     Chapter  '.£-Y^ 
HAROLD  FREDERIC. 


THE    STORY    OF    A  NEW  YORK 

I.     H.  C.  BIINNER.     Illustrated  by  A.  B.  FR 
F.  HOPKINSON  SMITH,  and  G.  W.  EDWAR 

SONNETS  IN  SHADOW.     ARLO  BATES. 


Captain  U.  S  Engineers.      With  maps,  ske 


EENE, 
tcKel, 


OUR  DEFENCELESS  COASTS.   F.V.  GREEN, 
Captain  U.  S  I 
and  diagrams. 

IN  A  COPY  OF  THE  LYRICAL  POEMS  OF 
ROBERT  HERRICK.  AUSTIN  DOBSOX. 

IN  MEXICO.     A  Story.    THOMAS  A.  JANVIER. 

THE  BABYLONIAN  SEALS.  WILLIAM  HAYES 
WARD.  With  illustrations  from  seals  in  the 
author's  collection,  and  after  DECLERCQ,  PINCHES', 
and  others. 

GLIMPSES  AT  THE  DIARIES  OF  GOU- 
VERNEUR  MORRIS.  Social  Life  and  Char 
acter  in  the  Paris  of  the  French  Revolution.  First 
Paper.  ANNIE  GARY  MORRIS.  With  portrait 
engraved  by  G.  KRL'ELL,  from  the  painting  at  Old 
Morrisania. 

SOCIALISM.     FRANCIS  A.  WALKER 

THE  NEW  YEAR.     MAYBURV  FLEMING. 

A  VIOLIN  OBLIGATO.  A  Story.  MARGARET 
CROSBY. 


Remittances  should  be  made  by  check  or  money  or 
der.  All  subscriptions  now  sent  will  begin  with  the 
f.rst  number. 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS,  Publishers,  743  &  745  Broadway,  N.  Y. 


I2  THE  NEW  PRINCETON  REVIEW. 

Mew  and  Important  Books  just  published  by 

A.  C.  ARMSTRONG  &  SON,  714  Broadway,  New  York. 

NEW  AND  ATTRACTIVE  WORK   ON  CHINA. 

jOJragon,  3magc,  anfr  JJcmon; 


Or,  the  Three  Religions  of  China—  CONFU- 
CIANISM,  BUDDHISM,  and  TAOISM— 

giving  an  account  of  the  Mythology,  Idolatry,  and 
Demonolatry  of  the  Chinese.  By  REV.  HAMP- 
DEN  C.  DU  BOSE—  14  years  a  Missionary  in 
China.  With  188  ILLUSTRATIONS- 

ENGRAVED    IN     CHINA.      Crown  octavo  volume.      Beautifully  bound.   Cloth, 

beveled  boards,  full  gilt  side,  etc.     $2.00. 

"  The  writer  has  drawn  his  water  from  native  wells,  the  facts  being  mostly  gathered  from  Chinese  sources. 
The  pen  is  not  held  by  one  seated  in  a  professor's  study,  but  by  a  plain  man,  who  daily  walks  to  and  fro  among 
idolaters,  and  testifies  of  what  he  has  seen  and  heard,  written  in  a  plain  style,  so  that  the  young  as  well  as  the 
old  may  understand  it."  —  Author's  Preface. 
A  NEW  WORK  BY  REV.  WM.  M.  TAYLOR,  D.D.,  LL.D. 

parables    of   (Pur   0airiour. 

EXPOUNDED  AND  ILLUSTRATED.  By  WM.  M.  TAYLOR,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  uni 
form  with  same  author's  "Limitations  of  Life,"  and  "Contrary  Winds"  and  other  Ser 
mons.  I  volume,  crown  octavo,  cloth.  $1.75. 

"In  adding  another  to  the  number  of  works  on  this  subject  I  can  claim  only  such  originality  as  may  be 
fairly  accounted  for  by  what  astronomers  have  called  the  '  personal  equation  ';  and  the  result  may  be  a  further 
illustration  of  the  many-sidedness  of  these  exquisite  stories.  To  Archbishop  Trench,  who  more  than  any 
Other  English  writer  has  brought  patristic  lore  to  bear  upon  the  illustration  of  the  parables,  every  later  author 
must  express  his  peculiar  obligations  ;  but  the  recent  works  of  Prof.  Bruce  and  Siegfried  Goebel  have  broken 
new  ground  in  this  department,  and  my  aim  has  been  to  turn  their  fruitful  suggestions  to  good  homiletical 
account.  The  little  volumes  of  Dr.  Dod's—  only  the  first  of  which  was  in  my  hands  when  these  discourses  were 
prepared  —  are  full  of  richest  nuggets;  and  the  Expositions  of  William  Arnot  are  characterized  by  the  masculine 
sense,  rich  Christian  experience,  and  striking  illustrations  for  which  he  was  so  remarkable.  But  the  present 
work,  while  indebted  in  different  respects  to  all  these  authors,  w;ll  be  found  to  be  in  others  independent  of 
them  all."  —  From  Author's  Preface. 

Cegenfrs  anfr  Papular  Sales  of  tljc  Basqite 

By  MARIANA  MONTEIRO.  With  full-page  ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  PHOTO- 
GRA  VURE.  By  HAROLD  COPPING.  Small  quarto  volume.  Tastefully  printed  and 
elegantly  bound  in  cloth.  Illuminated  cover  —  from  original  design.  Price,  $3.75. 
(A  small  number  of  copies  on  large  paper.  Price,  $7.50.) 

"On  placing  before  the  reader  this  collection  of  Basque  legends,  fairy  tales,  ballads,  and  popular  stories 
having  their  origin  in  the  ancient  traditions  which  formed  a  portion  of  the  sacred  inheritance  bequeathed  to  the 
Basque  people  by  their  forefathers,  and  handed  down  by  word  of  month  from  generation  to  generation,  I  have 
thought  that  a  few  remarks  would  not  be  out  of  place  concerning  the  moral  and  historical  importance  which 
these  legends  and  tales  possess,  as  being  the  reflection  of  the  ideas  and  faithful  echo  of  the  sentiments  of  past 
generations."  —  From  the  Introduction. 


ffioemg  of  Jtlaftcmti  &e  la  Jttotlie 

Edited  and  Arranged  with  a  Short  Life.  By  Rev.  A.  SAUNDERS  DYER,  of  Cambridge,  Eng 
land,  with  a  Portrait,  neatly  bound  in  cloth,  $1.00.  (A  small  number  of  copies  printed 
on  hand-made  paper,  bound  in  parchment,  $2.00.) 

ILLUSTRATED   DAILY  TEXT-BOOK. 

Rest   on   the    toan : 

A  Daily  Text-Book,  with   16  different   illustrations,  printed  in  colors.     Illuminated  Texts 
and  Ilymns.      I'ltiminated  cover,  silver-gilt  edges.      Price,  40  cents. 
For  sale  by  all  Booksellers.     Copies  sent,  on  receipt  of  price,  postpaid,  by  the  publishers. 


THE  NEW  PRINCETON  REVIEW. 


Houston,  Mifflin  and  Company's  New  Books. 


THE  CRUISE  OF  THE  MYSTERY, 
AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

By    CELIA    THAXTER,    author  of    "  Drift- 
Weed,"  "  Among  the  Isles  of  Shoals, "etc. 
Parchment  cover.     i6mo,  $1.00. 
This  beautiful  book  sings  of  the  mystery  and  beauty 
of  human  love,  the  experience  of  human   life.     The 
charm  of  the  subject  and  the  added  charm  of  the  song 
lend  peculiar  attractions  to  the  lyrics  in  this  dainty 
volume. 

THE  FAR  INTERIOR. 

A  Narrative  of  Travel  and  Adventure  from 
the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  across  the  Zam 
besi  to  the  Lake  Regions  of  Central  Africa. 
By  WALTER  MONTAGU  KERR,  C.E.,  F. 
R.G.S.  With  Illustrations  and  a  Map.  In 
two  volumes,  8vo,  $9.00. 

APPLIED  CHRISTIANITY. 

By  WASHINGTON  GLADDEN,  author  of  "  The 
Lord's  Prayer,"  etc.  i6mo,  $1.25. 

CONTENTS:  Christianity  and  Wealth.  Is  Labor  a 
Commodity  ?  The  Strength  and  Weakness  of  Social 
ism.  Is  it  Peace  or  War*  The  Laborers  and  the 
Churches.  Three  Dangers.  Christianity  and  Social 
Science.  Christianity  and  Popular  Amusement. 
Christianity  and  Popular  Education. 

This  book  discusses  some  of  the  most  important 
questions  which  agitate  modern  society  with  remark 
able  candor,  and  a  sincere  purpose  to  get  at  the  heart 
of  the  matter. 

THE   RUBAIYAT  OF   OMAR 
KHAYYAM. 

Translated  by  EDWARD  FITZGERALD.  Il 
lustrated  by  Elihu  Vedder.  New,  smaller 
edition,  with  designs  reproduced  in  photo 
type.  Quarto,  tastefully  bound  in  cloth, 
$12.50. 

POEMS   OF   RELIGIOUS   SORROW, 

COMFORT,  COUNSEL,  AND 

ASPIRATION. 

Collected  and  edited  by  FRANCIS  J.  CHILD, 
Professor  in  Harvard  University.  New 
edition.  i6mo,  $1.25. 

THE  ANDOVER  REVIEW 
FOR  1887 

Will  continue  to  represent  progressive  thought 
in  maintaining  and  developing  Evangelical 
Theology,  and  to  promote  Christianity  in 
its  practical  relations  to  individual  and 
social  life  and  to  the  work  of  the  Church. 

Christianity  and  its  Modern  Competitors  will 
be  treated  in  editorial  articles,  beginning 
with  the  November  number,  and  later 
special  topics  of  Applied  Christianity. 

Among  the  important  subjects  which  will  be 
be  discussed  are  :  FIDUCIARY  AND  COM 
MERCIAL  MORALITY  ;  CITY  EVANGELI 
ZATION  ;  "THE  NEW  EDUCATION"; 
EMINENT  LITERARY  MEN.  $4.00  a  year  ; 


THE  LORD'S  PRAYER. 

By  WASHINGTON  GLADDEN.      New  edition. 
i6mo,  $1.00. 

ANCIENT  CITIES. 

From  the  Dawn  to  the  Daylight.     By  Rev. 
WILLIAM  BURNET  WRIGHT.   i6mo,  $1.25. 

CONTESTS:  Ur,  the  City  of  baints ;  Nineveh,  the 
City  of  Soldiers;  Babylon,  the  City  01  Sensualists; 
Memphis,  the  City  of  the  Dead;  Alexandria,  the  Ci:y 
of  Creed- Makers  ;  Petra,  the  City  of  Shams;  Damas 
cus,  the  City  of  Substance ;  Tyre,  the  City  of  Mer 
chants  ;  Athens,  the  City  of  Culture  :  Rome,  the  City 
of  the  Law-Givers  ;  Samaria,  the  City  of  Politicians: 
Susa,  the  City  of  Satraps  ;  Jerusalem,  the  City  of  the 
Pharisees;  New  Jerusalem,  the  City  of  God. 

DEMOCRACY,  AND   OTHER 
ADDRESSES. 

By  JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL,    i  vol.,  i6mo, 
gilt  top,  $1.25. 

CONTENTS  :  Democracy  ;  Garfield  ;  Stanley  :  Field 
ing  ;  Coleridge  ;  Books  and  Libraries  ;  Wordsworth  ; 
Don  Quixote  ;  Harvard  Anniversary. 

IN  THE  CLOUDS. 

By  CHARLES  EGBERT  CRADDOCK,  author  of 
"In   the   Tennessee    Mountains,"    "The 
Prophet  of  the  Great  Smoky  Mountains," 
"  Down  the  Ravine."     i6mo,  $1.25. 
This  is  the  longest  and  most  striking  story  Charles 

Egbert  Craddock  has  yet  written. 

HOMESPUN  YARNS. 

CONTAINING  :  "  Zerub  Troop's  Experiment,"  "  But- 
lered  Crusts,"  "My  Mother  Put  It  On, ""Girl  No 
blesse,"  "The  Little  Savages  of  Beetle  Rock,"  etc.  By 
Mrs.  A.  D.  T.  WHITNEY,  author  of  "  Leslie  Gold- 
thwaite,"  "Faith  Gartney's  Girlhood,"  "Bonny- 
borough,"  etc.,  etc.  i2mo,  $1.50. 

ARIEL   AND    CALIBAN. 

A  new  volume  of  poems  by  CHRISTOPHER 
PEARSE  CRANCH.     i  vol.,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

This  book  contains  the  verse  written  by  Mr.  Cranch 
during  several  years  past,  and  will  be  found  to  em 
body  the  ripe  results  of  hi-i  observation  and  reflection, 
illumined  by  imagination,  and  expressed  in  poetry 
wrought  out  with  so  faithful  art  and  of  such  lyrical 
excellence  that  it  ought  to  win  a  multitude  of  good 
readers. 

MEMOIR  OF  THE  REV.  J.  LEWIS 
DIMAN. 

Compiled   from   his    Letters,   Journals,   and 

Writings,   and   the    Recollections    of    his 

Friends.     By  CAROLINE  HAZARD.    In  one 

volume,  crown  8vo,  gilt  top,  $2.00. 

A  fitting  memorial  of  an   accomplished  scholar,  a 

vigorous   thinker,   an   effective   writer,   an    eloquent 

speaker,  a  successful   teacher,  and  a  man  of  strong 

and  ennobling  influence.     Those  who  have  read  his 

important  work  on  "  The  Theistic  Argument,"  and  his 

"  Orations,  Essays,  and  Sermons,"  will  be  grateful  to 

Miss  Hazard  for  describing  a  career  and  character  so 

exemplary  and  inspiriting. 

AGASSIZPS  LIFE  AND  WORKS. 

New  uniform  edition  in  six  volumes,  including 
LIFE  AND  LETTERS.  By  Mrs.  AGASSIZ.  2  vols., 
i2mo,  $4.00.  GEOLOGICAL  SKETCHES.  Two  Series. 
i2mo.  $1.50  each.  METHODS  OF  STUDY  IN  NATU 
RAL  HISTORY,  izmo,  §1.50.  A  JOURNEY  IN  BRAZIL. 
Illustrated,  izmo,  §2.50.  The  Set,  6  vols.,  iamo,  510. 


35  cents  a  number. 
K.*  For  sale  by  all  Booksellers.      Sent  by  mail,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price  by  the  Publishers, 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO.,  Boston. 


11  EAST  17th  STRKET, 
NEW  YORK. 


THE  NE  W  PRINCE  TON  RE  VIE  W. 


GRAM,  Mobile,  Alabama. 

"  All  things  considered,  no  magazine  issued  in  this  country  appeals  as  strongly  as  this  to  the  interests  of 
American  readers.  In  its  pag^s, from  month  to  month,  appear  the  freshest,  best  authenticated,  and  most 
readable  accounts  of  the  great  events  in  our  national  history,  with  entertaining  sketches  of  Americans  who  have 
been  prominent  in  the  great  movements  of  the  age,  besides  much  information  of  a  miscellaneous  character 
pertaining  to  the  country  and  its  history.  It  is  printed  in  large,  clear  type,  and  copiously  illustrated." — NEW 
YORK  OBSERVER. 

"It  is  a  magnificent  periodical, finely  and  beautifully  illustrated,  and  a  credit  to  American  scholarship. 
Its  aim  is  to  explore  and  d-velop  the  rich  mines  of  historical  materials  in  our  own  country." — CUMBERLAND 
PRESBYTERIAN. 

"  This  magazine  stands  quite  alone,  both  in  England  and  America,  for  general  attractiveness  in  i.'s  own 
chosen  field." — BOSTON  ADVERTISER. 

"  It  is  exquisitely  printed  on  fine  paper,  and  i  cmarkably  well  edited." — TOLEDO  COMMERCIAL. 

"  The  aim  and  scope  of  this  magazine  is  such  as  to  commend  it  to  every  thoughtful  student  of  American 
history  and  every  friend  of  republican  institutions.'' — THE  PRACTICAL  FARMER. 


The  Magazine  of  American  History, 

An  illustrated  monthly  devoted  to  history,  and  the  literature,  antiquities,  and  curiosities  of 
history,  which,  being  popular  and  pleasing  in  style,  has  achieved  unparalleled  success.  It 
deals  with  every  problem  in  American  history,  from  the  most  remote  period  to  the  present 
hour,  and  it  is  as  readable  as  any  work  of  fiction. 

Its  SEVENTEENTH  VOLUME  begins  with  the  January  number,  1887. 

Subscription  Price,  $5.00  a  year,  in  advance. 

To  Public  Libraries  and  Reading  Rooms,  and  to  all  educational  institutions,  this 
magazine  has  long  since  become  an  actual  necessity. 

It  is  also  one  of  the  best  of  household  journals,  and  it  has  the  largest  circulation  of  any 
magazine  of  its  character  in  the  world. 

Having  grown  remarkably  prosperous  during  the  past  year,  it  is  now  prepared  to  extend 
its  usefulness  to  every  quarter  of  the  country,  and  to  foreign  lands.  It  will  continue  to  offer 

COMBINATION   SUBSCRIPTION   RATES, 

as  this  method  has  proved  a  great  convenience  to  persons  residing  at  a  distance,  and 
particularly  to  schools,  colleges,  and  reading  rooms. 

Magazine  of  American  History,  and  The  Forum,     -           -  $8.00 

Magazine  of  American  History,  The  Century,  and  Harper's  Magazine,  -    10.50 

Magazine  of  American  History,  and  Good  Housekeeping,              -           -  6.00 

Magazine  of  American  History,  and  The  North  American  Review,  -  -      8.00 

Magazine  of  American  History,  and  The  Andover  Review,  -  -  7.00 
Magazine  of  American  History,  The  Nation,  and  Army  and  Navy  Journal,  12.00 

Magazine  of  American  History,  The  Critic,  anft  New  York  Observer,    -  10.00 

Magazine  of  American  History,  St.  Nicholas,  and  Scientific  American,  -    10.00 

Magazine  of  American  History,  Babyhood,  and  New  York  Independent,  8.50 

Magazine  of  American  History,  and  The  Southern  Bivouac,  -            -  -      6.00 

Magazine  of  American  History,  and  Queries,  5.25 

Any  other  desired  combination  of  leading  periodicals  will  be  furnished  ;  price  quoted  on 
application. 

There  are  two  handsome  volumes  in  each  year,  beginning  with  January  and  July. 
The  price  of  the  bound  volume  is  $3.50  for  each  half  year,  in  dark  green  levant  cloth,, 
and  $4. 50  if  bound  in  half  morocco.     Address 

MAGAZINE   OF  AMERICAN   HISTORY, 

30  LAFAYETTE  PLACE,  NEW  YORK  CITY. 


THE  NEW  PRINCETON  REVIEW. 


MEDICO-LEGALJOURNAL 

Vol.  3  of  the  Journal  was  completed  with 
the  March  Number,  1886. 


This  volume  contains  the  following  original  articles  : 

Shall  we  Hang  the  Insane  who  commit  Homicide  ?    By  CLARK  BELL,  Esq. 

Increase  of  Insanity  :  Causes  and  Remedy.     By  IRA  RUSSELL,  M.D. 

Report  of  Committee  on  Lunacy  Legislation  in  Illinois.      With  Proposed  Bill  of  Dr. 

FRED.  H.  WINES. 

Report  of  Committee  on  Lunacy  Legislation  in  Wisconsin. 
Insanity  as  a  Plea  for  Divorce  or   Nullity.      By  GEO.   H.  SAVAGE,  M.D  ,  Bethlem 

Hospital. 

Absorption  of  Arsenic  by  the  Brain.      By  R.  H.  CHITTENDEN  and  HERBERT  E.  SMITH. 
Photography  and  Medical  Jurisprudence.     By  WM.  M.  MATHEW,  Esq. 
Case  of  Lucille  Dudley.     By  W.  H.  O'SANKEY,  M.D. 

Structure  and  Function  of  Gray  Matter  of  the  Brain.     By  CHARLES  HEITZMAN,  M.D. 
Fraudulent  Damages  in  Railway  Accident  Cases.     By  C.  J.  CULLINGWORTH,  M.D. 
Poisoning  by  Extract  of  Conium.     By  A.  J.  PEPPER,  M.D. 
Simulated  Insanity.     By  Prof.  WILLE,  of  Basle,  Switzerland. 
Still  Births.     By  H.  D.  CHAPIN,  M.D. 

Classification  of  Mental  Diseases.     By  Prof.  Dr.  LEFEBVRE,  of  Belgium. 
Retiring  Address  of  President  Prof.  R.  O.  Doremus. 
Inaugural  Address  of  President  Dr.  Isaac  Lewis  Peet. 

Inebriety  and  Criminal  Responsibility  in  Mexico.     By  ENRIQUE  A.  FRIMONT,  M.D. 
Autopsia  Cadaverica  Legalis.     By  THOS.  R.  BUCKHAM,  M.D. 
It  also  contains   Portraits  of  Dr.   R.  Swayne  Taylor,  Dr.  Thomas  R.  Buckham, 

The  Statue  to  Pinel,  Dr.  J.  L.  Little.      Portraits  of  Riel  and  Dr.   Beach 

(who  were  executed). 

With  editorial,  lexicological,  and  other  original  matter,  besides  recent 
legal  decisions  and  reviews  of  new  books. 


Vol.  4  will  contain  the  papers  read  before  the  Medico-Legal  Society, 
and  editorial  matter,  reviews  of  books,  etc.,  with  Portraits  of  distinguished 
alienists  and  medico-legal  jurists. 

It  will  have  a  full  index  and  contain  matter  of  interest  to  every  student 
of  medical  jurisprudence  or  forensic  medecfne. 

Former  volumes  can  be  ordered — except  Nos.  i  and  2  of  Vol.  i — out 
of  print. 

PRICE,  $3.OO. 


Address 

MEDICO-LEGAL  JOURNAL, 

57  Broadway,  New  York. 


THE  NEW  PRINCETON  REVIEW. 


STANDARD  SETS   OF   BOOKS 

Published  by  A.  C.  ARMSTRONG  &  SON. 
NEW   EDITIONS    OF   STANDARD    AUTHORS. 

Printed  on  toned  paper.  Crown  8vo  volumes  handsomely  bound  in  cloth,  and  half-calf  extra.  (Each 
Set  in  a  Neat  Box).  At  less  than  onc-lialf  the  former  prices.  An  Eminent  Critic  says: 

"  Indispensable  for  the  Library  or  for  any  considerable  collection  of  books  on  history  or  genernl  literature. 
Macaulay,  Hallam,  Poe,  Lamb,  Gray,  May,  Disraeli,  Mllman,  midland,  etc., 
are  among  the  classics  of  our  language. 

EDGAR  A.  POE'S  COMPLETE  WORKS. 

Life  and  Introduction.  By  Rich'd  Henry  Stoddard.  Illustrated  with  a  New  Portrait  on  Steel  (the  latest 
taken  from  life).  Etchings  from  Original  designs  by  Gifford,  Church  and  others,  fac-stmiles,  numerous 
autographs,  etc.  Printed  from  New  Plates,  large  type,  on  paper  made  specially  for  this  edition.  6  vo!s.f 
cloth,  gilt  top,  $9.00. 

"  This  is  the  completest  and  most  competently  edited  edition  of  Poe's  writings  ever  published.  Every 
lover  of  literature  has  reason  to  be  glad  of  its  publication."  —  N.  Y.  COMMERCIAL. 

CHARLES  LAMB'S  COMPLETE  WORKS. 

Including  "Elia"  and  "  Eliana,"  the  last  containing  the  hitherto  uncollected  writings  of  Lamb,  corrected 
and  revised  by  Sir  N.  Talfourd.  With  Life.  Steel  portrait,  cloth,  3  vols. 

$3.75  p^r  set  (reduced  from  $7  50). 
Larger  Paper  Edition,     j  vols.,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $7.50. 

GRAY'S  (THOMAS)  WORKS.     In  Prose  and  Verse. 

Edited  by  Edmund  Gosse,  with  two  portraits  and  fac-similes.    4  vols.,  cloth,  gilt  top,  full  Index,  $6.00.. 

"Every  lover  of  English  literature  will  welcome  the  works  of  Gray  from  the  hands  of  an  editor  si>  accom 
plished  as  Mr.  Gosse.  His  competency  for  the  task  has  been  known  for  some  time  to  students  of  poetry  .  This 
edition  is  at  once  careful  and  complete.'  —  LONDON  ATHEN/EUM. 

HALLAM'S  (HENRY)  COMPLETE  WORKS. 

Comprising  UNABRIDGED  Editions  of 
Constitutional  History  of  England.      Full  Index  ...................................................  ?.  voK 

Middle  Ages  of  Europe,  cloth.     Full  Index  ........................................................  2  vols. 

Literature  of  Europe,  cloth.     Full  Index  .................................................  t  .......  2  vols. 

$7.5O  per  s.et  (reduced  from  $17.50). 

MAY.  —  The  Constitutional  History  of  England  since  the  Accession  of  George  III., 

1760-1860,  with  a  neiv  Supplementary  Chapter,  1861-71.    By  SIR  T.  ERSKINE  MAY.    2  vols.,  cloth,  $2.50. 
May  is  a  continuation  of  "  Hallam''  s  Constitutional  History."" 

MAY.  —  Democracy  in  Europe. 

A  History.     By  SIR  THOMAS  ERSKINE  MAY.     2  vols.,  octavo,  1,100  pages,  cloth,  $5.00. 

MACAULAY'S  COMPLETE  WORKS.     RIVERSIDE  EDITION,  COMPRISING  : 

History  of  England,  cloth,  with  full  Index  ........................................................  4  vols. 

Critical,  Historical,  and  Miscellaneous  Essays,  -with  full  Index  .....................................  3  volsv 

Speeches  and  Poems,  cloth  .........................................................................  i  vol. 

$1O.OO  per  set  (reduced  from  $20.00). 

DEAN  MILMAN'S  COMPLETE  WORKS.     COMPRISING: 

History  of  the  Jews,  cloth,  with  full  Index  ........................................................  2  vols. 

History  of  Christianity,  cloth,  with  full  Index  ...................................................  2  vols. 

History  of  Latin  Christianity,  cloth,  with  full  Index  ..............................................  4  vols. 

$12.OO  per  set  (reduced  from  £24.  50). 

ISAAC  DISRAELI'S  COMPLETE  WORKS. 

Curiosities  of  Literature,  cloth,  loith  Index  .......................................................  3  vols. 

Amenities  of  Literature,  cloth,  -with  Index  ........................................................  i    vo'  . 

Calamities  and  Quarrels  of  Authors,  cloth,  with  Index  ............................................  i    vol. 

Literary  Characters,  Men  of  Genius,  cloth,  with  Index  ............................................  i    vol. 

$7.5O  per  set  (reduced  from  $15.00). 

MICHAUD'S  (JOSEPH  F.)  HISTORY  OF  THE  CRUSADES. 

3  vols.,  cloth.    Complete  Index.     New  edition,  with  a  supplementary  chapter,  by  H.  B.  Mabie,  $3.75. 

JOSEPHUS'  WORKS. 

With  Explanatory  Notes  and  Observations  by  William  Whiston.  3  vols.,  cloth.  New  and  elegant  edition 
(in  large,  clear  type).  Vfith  complete  Index  ,  $3.75. 

BURTON'S  ANATOMY  OF  MELANCHOLY. 

What  it  is,  with  all  kinds,  causes,  symptoms,  prognostics  and  several  cures  for  it,  etc..  etc.  A  new  edition, 
corrected  and  enriched  by  translations  of  the  numerous  classical  extracts,  with  an  emblematical  steel  frontis 
piece  from  the  "Original  Edition."  3  vols.,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $5.25. 

NAPIER'S  PENINSULAR  WAR. 

The  History  of  the  War  in  the  Peninsula.  By  Major-Gen.  Sir  W.  F.  P.  NAPIER.  With  55  maps  and  plans 
of  battles,  5  portraits  on  steel,  and  a  complete  index.  5  vols.,  $7.5O. 

STOUGHTON  (JOHN,  D.D.),  History  of  Religion  in  England. 

From  the  Opening  of  the  Long  Parliament  to  the  end  of  the  i8th  Century.  6  vols.,  cloth,  $15.OO. 
Comprising:  i.  Church  of  the  Civil  Wars.  2.  Church  of  the  Commonwealth.  3  and  4.  Church  of  the 
Restoration.  5.  Church  of  the  Revolution.  6.  Church  of  the  Georgian  Era. 

Cfpies  of  these  books  sent  on  receipt  of  price  by  express  or  mail,  charges  prepaid  by  the  publishers. 


A.  C.  Armstrong  &  Son,  714   Broadway,  New  York. 


A.  C.  ARMSTRONG  &  SON 

HAVE  NOW  READY  : 

SMALLEST  COMPLETE  SHAKESPEARE. 

JIIu^fnJM   pocket   pJition  of 

DRAMATIC     WORKS    AND     POEMS, 

With  Glossary  and  Life  and  Index  to  Familiar  Quotations. 

By  J.  TALFOURD  BLAIR. 

Carefully  Edited  from  the  best  texts.  With  4O  line  block  reproductions 
of  Westell's  and  others'  well-known  Engravings.  8  volumes,  crown  32mo, 
set  wpfront  a  new  font  of  Nonpareil  Type,  and  beautifully  printed  by  the 
Glasgow  University  Press  on  thin  OPAQUE  PAPER,  SPECIALLY  MADE  FOR 

THIS    EDITION. 

Though  there  are  many  editions  of Shakespeare ;  Ike  publishers  feel  con 
fident  that  there  is  a  real  want  for  one  smaller  in  size  and  price  than  any 
•which  has  yet  appeared.  The  "  Illustrated  Pocket  Edition  "  adds  to  its 
other  advantages  as  clear  a  letterpress  as  the  other  smaller  editions, 
although  these  latter  arc  almost  twice  as  large  and  more  cosily. 

Strongly  bound  in  cloth,  jrllt  back,  In  neat  clotb  box,  to  mutch,  $8.75 

In  French  Morocco,  In  box  to  match ti.OO 

In  .Ylllgatiir  Uorocco.  patent  cabinet  box,  with  clasp  to  natch,     7.60 
ID  Light  and    Kutwla  Calf  and   Full  Turkey  Morocco,  box  uni 
form  with  binding 10.00  Containing  4,060  page*. 


with  "  Ciblia 


Cegmtrarn  ^tatorg  of  ttye  Crass 


$n  33lacfe  Uettn,  square  8bo,  feounfc  in  SSaijite  ^ardjmrnt,  tout)  ttoo 
clasps.    $ricc,  $3.75. 


A  series  of  nearly  100  full-page  wood-cuts,  from  a  Dutch  work  published  in  1483,  with  an   introduction. 
Written  and  illustrated  by  JOHN  ASHTON.      Preface  by  Rev.  S.   It  A  KI  X.M.O1   I,  I>. 

Printed  on  paper  made  ir.  Holland.     (EACH  COPY  NUMBERED.} 

J^ceompanninq  tbe  illustrations  toill  be  fonnft  —  bcsibrs  an  ebitorial  paraphrase  cf  lot  pictorial  bcrsion  of  tb« 

Ifeoenb  —  tt  re-print  far-simile  from  Cavton's  (ftolbrn  Ijfegenbs  of  the  Saints,  gibing  the 

History  of  the  Cross  in  full. 

The  work  is  printed  in  antique  style,  with  old  style  type.;  and  the  old  spelling.  Two  colors  of  ink  are  used. 
Such  ornaments  in  the  way  of  head  and  tail  pieces  as  are  used  toembellish  the  letterpress  are  specially  designed 
to  be  in  harmony  •with  the  subject  r>f  the  work.  The  paper  is  the  well-known  Dutch  hand-  made,  prepared  by 
almost  identically  the  ancient  method.  The  cover,  of  parchmtnt,  with  brass  clasps,  is  embossed  with  afint 
version  of  the  Crucifixion,  borrowed  from  an  old  engraving  of  the  year  149  O. 


A  NEW  WORK  ON  JAPAN. 

A  BUDGET  OF  LETTERS  FROM  JAPAN. 

By  ARTHUR  C.  MACLAY,  formerly  Instructor  in  the  Imperial  College  at  Tokio,  Japan.     Illustrated  with  25  full- 
page  engravings  from  original  drawings.     Crown  8vo,  cloth,  $2.00. 

A  highly  instructive  •work,  replete  withfresh  information  and  vivid  description  of  customs,  thrilling  incidents, 
historical  facts,  humorous  episodes,  and  magnificent  scenery. 


THE  MIRACULOUS  ELEMENT  T'HNE  GOSPELS. 

By  REV.  A.  B.  BRUCE,  D.D.     i  volume,  octavo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  §2.50. 
This  is  a  companion  volume  to  the  well-known  work  on  "  The  Parabolic  Teaching  of  Christ,"  by 

the  same  author.  It  consists  of  lectures  :  (l.)  On  Miracles  in  Relation  to  the  Theories  of  the  Universe.  ' 2-J 
To  the  Order  of  Nature.  (3-1  To  the  Apostolic  H'itnesses.  (4.)  To  the  Evangelic  Records.  (5  and  6.)  To 
Exegesis.  (7  and  8.)  To  the  Worker  and  the  Christian  Revelation.  (9.)  The  Great  Moral  Miracle,  (fo.) 
Christianity  without  Miracles,  etc.,  etc. 

A  full  account  is  given  of  the  literature  relating  to  the  subject  in  its  various  aspects,  and  careful  criticisms 
jre  made  of  the  views  of  Mr.  J.  Fisk,  Prof.  Drummond  (author  of"  Natural  Law  in  the  Spiritual  World"), 
and  other  critics  and  "writers.  The  work  is  eminently  a  book  for  the  times,  and  is  characterized  by  learning, 
earnestness,  and  candoi — -fitted  to  make  it  useful  to  doubters  and  acceptable  to  believers. 

For  sale  by  all  Booksellers.     Copies  sent,  on  receipt  of  price,  postpaid,  by  the  publishers. 


THE 


EQUITABLE    LIFE 


ASSURANCE  SOCIETY 


Of  the  United  States. 


LARGEST  BUSINESS. 


Most  Liberal  Contracts 


INDISPUTABLE  POLICIES, 


FREE  TRAVEL 


For  particulars  send  to 

I2O    BROADWAY,   NEW   YORK. 


Press  of  J.  J.  Little  &  Co.,  Astor  Place,  New  York. 


